


Nightmares of Red Stone

by TheLastArchivist



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Politics, Psychological Drama, Red Lyrium, Romance, Smut, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 59,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3586437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastArchivist/pseuds/TheLastArchivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Samson x Inquisitor story. The former templar and the leader of Thedas’ most powerful institution will be brought together by an unlikely similarity. As they learn of their mutual struggle against depression, a condition an outsider has no means to understand, they will find much needed support in each other.<br/>As Samson finds long lost strength within and regains his pride once more, he will become the Inquisitor’s champion and aid the Inquisitor to earn her freedom from the clutches of the past. As enemies of old threaten to drag the couple back to an infernal abyss, they will uncover a deadly plot to bring forth the end of the Inquisition as we know it.</p><p>Official Cover: http://i.imgur.com/aTRC2LV.png</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Last Thoughts of a Dying Man

**Author's Note:**

> NoRS is being simultaneously posted in my Tumblr: magearchivist.tumblr.com

**_ _ **

 

**_‘Everything I ever cared about is destroyed’_ **

****

_‘Coward! You pretend you had no choice, but you could’ve fought.’_

_‘I fought and lost long before Corypheus! Your Commander thinks he knows what that feels like? Well, he’s wrong! I know what I did. I know none of you can understand why.’_

_‘You were always weak and your leadership proves it.’_

_‘Every one of those templars would’ve suffered until nothing was left. And then, be forced to kill and die. I gave them hope just like the Chantry. **Just like you.** But I’m weak... and you’re a savior.’_

_‘...Do what you want, Inquisitor. **I’m done talking.’**_

 

...

 

Seven hours had passed since his trial. Samson looked at the distance watching the final hours of day. The sky was already shifting from the intense blue to the familiar orange of sunset.

He was in a foul mood. Truth be told, he wasn’t certain of what he was feeling at the moment. Anger mixed with sadness and an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Anger for all the injustice suffered at the hands of bad authority, a theme that seemed to permeate his entire life, as he grimly concluded. Sadness for letting himself down and the people he tried to protect in such a way.

And helplessness for him reaching a point in his life where there was virtually no escape from his predicament. Whatever hope Samson had that chance would once again extend its hand to him was gone. 

First, he was rescued from hell by Hawke. Earning his shield back didn’t last much long, though. The confrontation between Meredith and Orsino made sure of that. The civil war had reached its apex many months ago and Kirkwall burned, its streets filled with the corpses of countless victims. 

Second, just a few months after the city barely had time to rebuild, the templars of Kirkwall were poisoned by that red powder and went on a murdering rampage. The last of his troops were cut down just moments ago by a group of those monsters. There was nothing that could stop the devastation they brought in their wake. 

He had to find reinforcements and get help from the city guard to evacuate the remaining civilians. A harsh realisation struck him as he dragged painfully away from the fight. Just when he had fought so hard to earn his prestige again, everything spiralled out of control.

 

...

 

After the staged coup of those monsters, there was nothing left of the Order now. The few good templars left were all but abandoned by the Divine. Kirkwall was doomed to succumb. And its people would drown in its own ashes.

‘Not me, though. I’m a survivor.’ He kept repeating to himself as he ran away from the turmoil. He had reached Lowtown before nightfall. Samson already knew all the hidden spots in the slums and how to avoid the city guards as they patrolled the streets after rogue mages and...and those monsters, those things clad in red and rage who, all of a sudden, invaded the Order from within and ripped his templar fellows to shreds with claws of raw lyrium...

Speaking of lyrium...

‘Ugh’ he moaned in the darkness, feeling the first pangs of withdrawal. It had been six days ever since he’d had his last dosage. During the assault in the Gallows, Samson and the remaining templars had virtually no means to replenish their lyrium supply. They had to do battle while struggling with the after effects of their addiction.

‘Curse it! If only Cullen was still here...I wonder if he knew this was about to happen. Could he? Could he have left us to die like this?’

No, the thought was too grim. He knew Cullen. He was a young, good lad. He’d never leave his brothers and sisters behind if he knew what they were going through. Besides, it had already been weeks since he departed from Kirkwall.

Samson dragged his way toward his old, hiding spot. If he was lucky, that’s where he’d find an extra cache of lyrium, one he kept safe for emergencies. He was panting and sweating as he walked, suffering both from the withdrawal as well as from a bleeding injury in his flank.

He removed a heavy lid from a hole in the ground and found the familiar little box. It was with relief he saw no one had perused the contents. The lock was still in place. With a hungry grin, he stared at the blue powder, pouring some of it on his shaky palm and prepared to ingest its content with delight...

A fireball exploded near his location and Samson was thrown in the air along with everything that was around him. His body descended into the nearby lake, the blue powder all but lost in the blue infinity. He shielded his head as best he could from the falling debris and struggled against his armor. The heavy metal suit threatened to drag him to the bottom.

Once rid of it, he swam as fast as he could back to the margin. The cold water and the night air made him shiver violently. At least the thermal shock had shrugged off some of the withdrawal pain he had been feeling.

His eyes gazed at his sinking shield, swallowed by the lake and the powder that was all but ruined now...

‘Curse it. Curse it! What is this, why am I so hated? Huh What did I do?’ he yelled at no one in particular, no longer bothering to hold back hot, angry tears. There was no one around to chastise a grown man for crying. Everyone was dead or running away.

A few minutes later, feeling calmer now, he saw in his mind’s eye many flashes of what had happened in the Gallows in the past few days.

The sight of that dead woman crying in despair with glowing red eyes was too much for the population to bear. The red lyrium statue that Meredith had become had since then been removed from the courtyard to a cellar. The templars were still frightened of it, as though it would spring to life at any moment. No wonder a few days before his departure, Knight-Commander Cullen had requested a ship to take it to Orlais, to the White Spire, where it would be studied by the best enchanters of the empire, preferably as far away from Kirkwall as possible.

But what no one had predicted was that the statue had remained long enough to contaminate part of the lyrium supply...just a few milligrams, but enough to work its magic in a few templars and turn them into those horrible monsters.

At first, no one knew what the sudden madness that they contracted was. Later on, they claimed to hear voices on their heads as their eyes turned a strange bloodshot red. But it wasn’t until red shards began to erupt from their bodies that they realized the killings had started.

And even though they managed to execute them all before they made more victims, others were already infected. It seemed anyone who had come even remotely in contact with their colleagues was now doomed to the same fate.

It was only a matter of days until the Order was torn apart and brother turned on brother, not knowing whether the sword was drawn on him out of genuine concern he was infected or if the infected ones obeyed the voices in their heads, telling them to murder the innocent.

Samson rocked his body back and forth, trying to console himself amongst the shattering reality. The screams of the civilians being chased down the streets were muffled by his shirt, which he had wrapped around his head to shun the world outside. He needed to think. The night air made him sneeze a few times. At least the unwilling cold bath served to keep him lucid enough not to get lost in the madness induced by the withdrawal.

He was still a knight-templar with some authority. If he acted quickly, perhaps he could rally the remaining survivors and flee to...where? What city was near enough? Starkhaven wasn’t so far, but they wouldn’t arrive there in less than two weeks. And would they survive the trip without any lyrium at all? If they didn’t have another dosage in ten days, they’d die from the pain, for sure. And before that, the withdrawal would give them hallucinations, strong enough so that they would go mad and start attacking each other. That’s what the Chantry always repeated.

Willing or not, they were leashed. He was leashed. There was nothing he could do. Unless go back into that burning hell that was the Gallows now with the city guard and try to restore order somehow...

‘No doubt that redhead friend of Hawke has already marched there, sword and shield in hand and all.’ he mused, thinking of the Guard-Captain.

The second pain made his intestines hurt and he let out an agonising yell, crouching on the hard stone ground. He could feel his insides turning into a mushy substance.

‘Oh, please Maker, not this. Not now.’

He struggled as hard as he could, scratching his nails on the ground and feeling the cold sweat drench his body. His forehead touched the ground now and his hand was curled into a fist. The other was over his abdomen, and he breathed long, deep breaths, trying not to give in to despair as wave after wave of pain swept through him...

‘I can’t...I won’t end like this. You...’ in his final hour, he directed all his thoughts to the one entity that Samson believed would be listening.

‘You made me suffer all this and for what? What was the great lesson you wanted to teach me? That I was never meant to be a good man, a defender of justice? Huh? You’ve mocked me ever since I joined the Templar Order. Throwing obstacle after obstacle in my path. Challenging me to give up all that I ever dreamed of becoming.’

‘First, it was that inspection officer, telling me my health was too debilitated to serve, claiming that I would not stand the intense physical training. Huh. What did he know? I ended first in the annual marathon and was granted my shield from the Knight-Commander himself.  Then, not long after, it was Meredith and her notice of expulsion from the Order. The withdrawal I had to endure for days, for weeks before finding some way to buy the dust was torture. It nearly killed me and left me an empty husk for almost ten years. Ten long years without a home, a family and a wife. Incapable of thinking clearly, of getting my wits together so as to give some sort of direction for my life. But I survived, didn’t I? I survived your sordid test. And now, you kill me with this...this civil war, this mutiny that destroyed all I ever cared about.’

And as he fell his life slowly leave his body, his last thoughts were:

‘You miserable bastard! You’re no Maker, no God worthy of praise. Just like everything the Chantry created, you only exist to corrupt the souls of men. To bend them to the will of others. You...take your accursed lyrium with you, and my life as well, since that’s the only thing that will satisfy you. But at least leave my soul to me. That’s...the only thing...I...won’t ....let you...strip...away...from...’

He rolled on the ground and his eyes now could see nothing but a great fog cover the city above him. His vision was blurred, but he could still distinguish a human-like shadow that towered over him, as though measuring the dying man.

‘Knight-Captain Samson. So I finally found you.’ said the deep, masculine voice before the templar’s hearing had all but failed.

His consciousness slipped for only a moment before his body was jerked back to reality and his sight began to clear as life was poured back to him. The withdrawal gave way to a pleasurable sensation that soon turned to a slowly rising heat wave.

It **_was_** lyrium, but not as he knew it. This lyrium was aggressive and all-consuming, while the other one was subtle and gentle, like the caress of a woman. 

‘Your leaders have failed you. Look how they left an outstanding member of the Templar Order. Thrown in the gutter, left and forgotten, to rot until he dies. ’

Samson struggled to move, but his limbs were still numb. The man seemed to be able to read his thoughts. Was this man real and not hallucination provoked by the withdrawal?

‘Your travesty of a Chantry is now trying to quench the inevitable flames of war that has already consumed your mages and templars. For years, decades, it stood and did nothing to repair the injustices perpetrated right under their watchful gaze. Mages were caged like animals, their raw potential stifled, their true power denied. And to guard them, trained dogs leashed by addiction. But no longer. Their lazy contemplation will cost them dearly. The world has been denied true magic for too long. Deep in a slumber, it only awaits to be awakened once more by those who possess the knowledge. These priests and travesty of leaders have no idea what is coming to them.’

Samson tried to move his lips, barely able to formulate the question: ‘Wh-who are you?’

The man lowered his head and what Samson saw was enough to scare him to his wit’s end. Maker, was this a man at all? With all the strange things growing all over him, he thought he was one of the monsters that assaulted the Gallows. The strong smell of rust, though, told him they were only bits and pieces of retorted metal.

With a sarcastic thought, Samson considered that, if he had ever been into the Deep Roads when he had the chance, he would’ve recognised what that creature was right away.

Many years ago, he had thought of going after his sister, who had decided to join the Wardens shortly after their family had been killed by a darkspawn horde. The Wardens, led by a young rivain named Duncan, managed to save the children. Unfortunately, nothing could be done for the parents.

Samson and Delilah were escorted to Kirkwall, where they were to live in a shelter for orphaned children. After seeing the place was so dismal, with the constant beatings and starvation, the young pair swiftly made their decision. One sibling joined the Wardens, while the other joined the Templars.

Five years would pass before Delilah contacted Samson through a letter, asking him to go to a nearby village, where Stroud and the other Wardens would visit on their way to Kirkwall. It was the same period when the Qunari invasion happened and Samson had gone into hiding to avoid the first civil war that swept the city. By the time everything went back to normal, he discovered to his chagrin that Delilah was long gone.

‘I know you can hear me.’ The creature’s voice echoed and vibrated inside Samson’s head, racking his skull, so strong it was.

_What are you?_ came the frightened thought.

‘I am the one who will bring the dawn of a new age. I am the one who will deliver your world from its hubris. I will open the Heavens and prove to the peoples of Thedas that you have been deceived for centuries. Your Maker is nothing more than a fairy tale made to blind you to the mysteries of life and the absolute truth of the world. A cruel joke forged by your leaders to force you into ignorant submission.’

The way the creature spoke, he seemed to give voice to all the anger and hatred bottled up inside Samson. Hatred toward the Chantry, the Maker, toward the way things were in general.

‘But first ** _...I need an army_. And loyal officers by my side**.’

Now having a bit more control over his senses, Samson licked his lips and said:

‘Well, if you’re recruiting, I’m up for it.  I’m tired of the Chantry. Tired of the casual levity with which they’ve always treated the templars’ addiction. Of how you’re left to rot in a madhouse after they’ve burned away your mind. Of having to hunt down innocent mages when they’re still clinging to their mothers’ skirt. Tired of it all.’

‘That’s what I hoped to hear.’ said the creature, and he could tell it was smiling.

 

...

 

The Inquisitor had locked him up without even coming to talk to him once. Not that Samson had anything more to say.

But if anything, he hoped at least one institution in Thedas would change the status quo. That templars would no longer be wasted away and mages didn’t have to waste their lives caged like animals. Didn’t anyone see this was the problem? As long as they weren’t free to be useful to society in some way, they would always rebel. And their jailors would always be tempted to perpetuate abuses against them, being restricted themselves to an imprisoned life in a tower, remaining forever leashed by that blue-powdered drug...

He was tired. He saw no hope for the future as it was. Damn it all! The Inquisitor was just like the rest of them. No one understood what the problem was, no one ever cared. Except maybe for Hawke, but he was now long gone...another casualty of life, of its inevitable circumstances, embraced by the arms of death before their time.

‘It seems that is the only fate befitting the just.’ He drew a small bottle from his pocket, staring hard at the red powder inside.

All his life, others dictated how Samson should lead it. Orphaned at a tender age, mocked by his colleagues for his pale skin, slim frame and soft heart, left to beg in the streets after his dishonorable disgrace...and now, condemned to rot in a cell after dooming the very people he was supposed to protect.

He had tried and failed. With everything he ever cared about destroyed, Samson would not allow others to dictate his final moments. If he was to have the last word, then he might as well do it now.

He removed the cork and swallowed the remaining red powder with a bit of water. The taste felt bitter, as always, and went down his throat like a liquefied scorching flame. It was done. He threw the bottle with all his might through the bars of his cell, hearing its distant shatter. In a few minutes, he’d forget who he was, what he’d done and be lullabied into blissful oblivion by the lyrium’s sweet melody.

 

 

**Ten minutes later...**

 

‘Open the door. I have permission from the Inquisitor to take the prisoner to the Undercroft.’

‘What shall you be doing with’im, Miss Dagna?’ asked the guard, obedient.

‘Not with him, nor to him.’ She corrected the woman ‘It’s the red lyrium. I think I’m close to something. I asked the mages to help me test on a nug the effects of contamination. They were infected with the corrupted lyrium and grew red shards all over their bodies, as predicted. But then-‘

‘You what, now?’ exclaimed the guard, scandalised.

‘Ugh, let me finish! As I was saying, but then I began purifying the blood with the help of magic – and a bit of equipment, of course – and the corruption just seemed to dilute instead, leaving the nug’s body.’

‘You used blood magic, then?’

‘Ugh, no! Of course not. Well, sorta. Does manipulating blood count as blood magic?’

The guard threw her a look of sheer doubt.

‘Well, if ya didn’t summon any demons, then...no?’

The door was opened.

‘What happened to the nug? Was it left like, a little monster, with bloodshot eyes and nasty pointy shards growing all over’im?’

‘Thank the Paragons, no. The shards disappeared after a while and he could be restored to something close to his previous form. Of course, they didn’t look like perfect little nugs anymore, but you could tell their bodies were back to normal.’

‘Well, I’ll be damned. That’s some miracle you people made right there.’

‘But that’s still far from curing the taint. The nugs still carry it.’ Dagna admitted.

‘Sounds like a victory, anyway. It’s already summin.’ reassured the guard.

‘If I can run a few tests in a human, I’m sure I can...’

The two women heard gulping and thrashing noises and rushed to the cell. The prisoner was fallen on the ground, completely white-faced and with wide-open eyes. His body was trembling uncontrollably, his breath was quick and shallow and copious amounts of foam left his mouth.

‘By the Paragons, he’s been poisoned. Call the Healers, quickly!’

The guard rushed back to the passage as Dagna got the water jug and prepared a quick concoction with the herbs and substances she usually carried with her. It wasn’t enough to reverse the poison, but it would at least slow it down.

She forced the liquid down the prisoner’s throat and grabbed a piece of leather, shoving it in his mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue. She then let his head rest on a pillow and scrutinized the cell.

There was a tiny cork in a corner, with a red substance in one of its ends.

‘Red lyrium...but there is something more.’

Footsteps were heard coming from the stairs, but no Healer was seen coming. It was the elven apostate who rushed to the scene.

‘What happened?’ he demanded in a fierce, urgent voice.

‘He swallowed a powdered mixture of red lyrium and deathroot.’

It was clear the man had attempted suicide.

‘Damn it. How long has it been since he took it?’ he kneeled near the prisoner.

‘I don’t know, I only just got here. But deathroot acts fast. It can’t have been more than ten minutes.’ She answered in an earnest voice.

Solas didn’t waste any more minute and began to evoke healing spells.

‘Do you have royal elfroot? It might reverse the poison more effectively. Also, bring those instruments you used in your experiment. We might be able to siphon the poison out of him.’ he asked.

Without another word, Dagna hurried back to the Undercroft.

 


	2. Dagna’s Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Samson is rescued at the last minute by a team of magic experts - namely an Arcanist, a Magister and a former Warden - after his suicide attempt.
> 
> Lots of dialog, lots of people becoming stressed, swear words being uttered and lots of name calling... and perhaps a viable cure for the taint.

__

**_I ain’t got that in me anymore. I just got the thirst and the dust._ **

 

 

‘Everything I ever cared about is destroyed...’

‘Don’t say that, brother. Things are not over yet.’

‘Delilah?’ his voice echoed hopefully, filling the vast nothingness.

His weightless body floated in a place made of both shadow and light. There were rushing sounds passing by. The many sounds that composed the symphony of his life.

And in front of him, surrounded by a glorious halo, was Delilah. First as a Warden, then as the child he knew so many years ago.

‘Hello again, brother. It has been a long time.’ She greeted him with a smile, touching his face with her small, delicate hand. The touch made him feel young again and his body was now also that of a young boy.

‘I miss you. I miss mother and father and...all the people we left behind...that I left behind. All the people that died, were led astray by my actions, on purpose or not... and whom I could do nothing to save...’ he swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t dissolve.

‘You’ve always been a sourpuss, just like father.’ she said with a short amused laugh. ‘But then, that’s why mother liked him. Don’t look at the past. Whenever you look back, there will always be one or two regrets staring back at you. And if you let them, they’ll drag you along and make you forget to live. You must endure, Sammy; learn to look ahead, to where it truly matters: your future. What’s done is done. But your life is not done yet. You haven’t been defeated. There is always another day.’

‘Delilah...’

‘Hang in there brother. Please don’t leave me before your time. If I have my way, you’ll see me again. Very soon, I promise.’

Her image soon began to flicker and dissolve in a white blur and he struggled to reach her before her entire being became nothing more than seam. The more he struggled, though, the more something held his arms in their place. Not only his arms, as he could feel, now, but his legs as well.

The sound of distant voices became more distinguishable and the muscles of his eyes were so stiff it felt as if they hadn’t been opened in centuries.

‘Will he know who he is?’

‘Yes, Inquisitor. There are gaps in his memory, but they’ve been caused by the decades of lyrium usage, not the poison.’

‘What about the red shards growing from him?’

‘They’ll eventually disappear, but it will take time. However, nothing can be done about the scars and wounds they’ll leave behind.’

‘So he’ll remember all that he did...’ said the voice, not sounding too satisfied.

There was a long moment of silence and it seemed as though all the light in the room went out. He felt his body enter a state of deep relaxation and fell asleep once more. But this time, he saw neither his sister, nor any recognisable place in his dreams. Only half-formed shadows and nightmares that chased him to no end.

 

...

 

‘What do you mean? Are you telling me he went into a coma?’ urged a loathsome feminine voice he barely recognized in his debilitated condition.

‘For a moment back there, we thought he did. He’s stabilized, now.’  Replied another.

‘Why doesn’t he wake up, then?’

‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing drastic. He’ll be slipping between semi awareness and long periods of deep sleep in the weeks to come. It’s part of his mind’s recovery.’ This time, a man’s drooling voice answered.

‘You see, it wasn’t just the body that was affected by the substance. The red lyrium has addled his brain.’

‘How much damage there was?’

‘Well, that’s the thing. Almost none. But we don’t know if that was due to the after effects of Corypheus’ magic or some inherent resistance of the prisoner.’

‘Can you determine which one it was?’

‘That’s what I hoped to find out. We were lucky the poison didn’t kill him. Now I can finally run my experiment.’ answered a third voice brimming with excitement.

A moment of silence was followed by a long, audible sigh.

‘Let me know the moment he regains his conscience.’

 

**Two weeks later...**

 

The memory of Corypheus and the red templars dragged far and far away as he drifted toward a warm gleam. His astral body had to protect his eyes so as to not allow the intense luminosity to burn them.

‘Maker’s breath, he’s waking up!’ exclaimed an alarmed voice.

‘He can’t wake up now. The shards are still piercing his skin!’ shouted another.

‘Shut up and get the damn concoction!’ a man yelled.

Samson felt a terrible headache coupled with an overall numbness. Next, there was a blinding light coming from above and hurting his eyes. But before he could even feel his lips, much less move them to form a coherent question, something quite painless punctured his arm and he soon drifted into timeless sleep once again.

The three people who had been tending to him for the past two weeks breathed a collective relieved sigh.

‘I told you to keep an eye on his blood pressure.’ Alexius reproached the dwarf.

‘I did. I don’t know what happened. He wasn’t supposed to wake up now. Bloody hell.’ She cursed under her breath.

‘He’s recovering more quickly than we anticipated.’ Observed Fiona.

Alexius didn’t quite know what to think of it.

‘Huh. I’ve never seen anyone have such resistance to lyrium.’

All of a sudden, a strange hypothesis crossed Dagna’s mind.

‘What if the deathroot diminished the effects of lyrium in his brain?’

Alexius snorted at the idea.

‘That’s preposterous! A common herb, nullify the effects of a mineral with magic properties? I’ve never even heard of such a thing.’

‘Shouldn’t we consider all the possibilities? I believe not even the best researchers in Tevinter fully understand how lyrium operates in the human system.’ Fiona chimed in.

The magister was taken aback.

‘Well, it’s true we still haven’t discovered all its properties...but-’

‘No “butts”, lord magister. I’ll prepare the equipment and see what we can find out.’ Dagna insisted, fumbling with her apparel.

The other two mages looked perplexed at her choice of words.

 ‘I’m sorry, young lady, no what?’ the magister demanded.

Fiona stifled a laugh and went back to casting the healing spells on Samson’s skin, making sure the wounds caused by the growing shards didn’t contract an infection.

 

**Another two weeks more...**

 

‘You sure you want to try this? His heart rate is still erratic. And we could wait another week for the wounds to heal properly.’ The dwarf suggested.

‘We’ve already delayed this for too long. If he’s not going to respond to the treatment, we might as well find out now.’ Alexius insisted.

Dagna exchanged a worried glance with Fiona. The mage nodded and she proceeded to remove the needles from the patient’s body.

Using healing spells, the pair of mages closed the tiny holes where they had pierced and, with a last exchanged look, cast the awakening spell on him.

As if pulled from the depths of a deep lake, Samson felt his consciousness slowly react, uncoiling its long stream of thoughts like a water serpent. The black, colourless abyss where his mind was became more and more filled with colour and sensation. Names and their faces began to surface as he swam through the murky waters toward the cleaner ocean of his higher mind.

‘His eyes are stirring. Check his pulse.’

‘Stable. Keep at it.’

He saw his mother and father, and then his sister, his beloved Delilah. She smiled at him in the same way she had done not too many days ago and greeted him as he passed her by, waving merrily at him as his astral body navigated ever upwards.

Now a young man, he swam through the many halls of the Gallows, envisioning his recruitment to the Templar Order and his victory in the marathon. It was with delight he saw himself earning his shield from the Knight-Commander in person.

‘How many times do I have to repeat? Stop gawking at the patient. Check his vitals!’ Alexius reproached the dwarf once more. Dagna hurriedly turned her attention to her instruments.

The lake turned into a stream of red water. Twisted remembrances of his time in Kirkwall plagued him. The sight of Corypheus came in the shape of a large, clawed hand that smelled strongly of rusted metal. It grabbed and pulled him further ahead, forcing him so fast against the water it hurt his very body. He tried to shake free, but its grasp just tightened around him, placing an unbearable pressure in his innards. He felt as though his spine would shatter.

‘His pressure is rising. We have to abort!’ Came Dagna’s concerned voice.

‘No! He’s almost there. Keep up the spell, Fiona.’ Alexius retorted.

‘His heart is about to stop!’

Alexius increased the potency of the spell and ordered his colleague to do the same.

‘Come on, son. You can do it. You’ve come this far and it wasn’t for nothing. Come on, dammit!’ he urged Samson under his breath.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard the Inquisitor’s words about Corypheus’ betrayal and the memory of their final battle was enough to enrage him. Blinded by the pain of that iron grasp and by the sheer rage consuming him –rage against the Chantry and that one-eyed monster of an institution which had brought him to his knees, he shattered the cages which kept him imprisoned with a battle cry and lashed violently against that hand.

The effort almost made him faint, but somehow his conscious mind had endured the final proof...his astral body drifted and drifted, finally coming ashore to a beach of crystalline water and white sand.

‘He’s coming around!’ Dagna said louder than she intended.

‘No need to shout, my dear.’ The magister warned with visible annoyance.

Like a newborn, Samson slowly opened his eyes, closing them again after feeling the burning sensation of the light above.

‘Welcome back to the world of the living.’ Dagna greeted him, earning an angry growl from him in response.

 

...

 

 

His throat was dry as a desert and he couldn’t even summon enough saliva to clean it. He tried to speak, but all his muscles felt heavy and numb.

‘How do you feel?’ asked a concerned woman’s voice.

‘W/where...ugh...’ he tried to swallow with difficulty.

‘Fetch some water, will you.’ He heard the man demand.

He felt the wetness touch his lips and parted them. The water came rushing down, filling him with relief. He gulped ever so slowly, savouring it. Once he was done, he let out an indistinguishable noise, turning his head the other way to signal he had enough.

‘Can you hear us? Do you know your name? Do you know where you are?’ Alexius spoke loudly on purpose, trying to elicit a reaction from the patient.

‘Maker’s breath, Alexius.’ Fiona complained after hearing him shout so near her ear.

Samson growled and made an effort to answer.

‘S...Samson...Stratford...Knight-Captain...in...Cor...Coryphe...us...’ he drifted off, only to be awoken by a mighty spell.

‘He’s disoriented. He’s confusing his rank in Kirkwall with the one he had in Corypheus’ army.’

‘I told you we should’ve waited a bit longer.’ Fiona complained again.

‘Come one, son. We don’t have all day. Try moving your arms.’ Alexius urged him on, giving quick slaps all over his right arm.

This seemed to annoy Samson to no end and he yanked free of the man with a menacing yell.

‘Good. Now the other.’ Alexius moved to the other side of the bed, but he barely touched him and Samson was already moving his arm away from that annoying prick.

‘There. See? There’s nothing wrong with him.’ The magister told Fiona, who returned a skeptical expression.

‘We’ll see in the next few days, Alexius.’

There was a noise coming from afar and Samson felt fresh wind sweeping the entrance to the room. Someone must’ve come in. The others, however, were either oblivious to it or pretended they noticed nothing.

‘Where am I? What happened to me?’ he demanded, still keeping his eyes shut due to the burning light.

There was a moment of silence and Fiona finally answered. She then told him he was in Skyhold and of his attempted suicide shortly after being trialled and imprisoned. Dagna then explained how he was rescued in time and was now undergoing a long treatment to be healed from the poison he took...and from the lingering effects of red lyrium.

At first, Samson didn’t quite register what she had just said. His mind backtracked and he asked her to repeat that last sentence.

‘It’s as you heard; we are doing research on how to revert the red lyrium corruption. So far, we’ve managed to make it lie dormant in the body. We also found out we can dilute its amount in the bloodstream and force the shards to disappear in time.’

He could hardly believe what his ears were registering.

‘But I’m...I’m almost taken by...by the lyrium. I’ve taken gross amounts of the stuff for the past few months.’

‘Doesn’t matter. The damage caused by the corruption wasn’t that great. For some reason, your body has quite a resistance to it.’ She went on.

‘It could also have been a result of Corypheus’ magic.’ Fiona cautiously added.

‘Yeah. Either way, most of the red lyrium is now out of your system. You’ll still hear the song in your head, but not as intensely as before.  Also, some of the...physical effects’ she pointed at the bits of skin damaged by the corruption ‘may or may not go away. I believe they may, if I continue purifying your blood.’

‘If you what, now?’ he turned at her with a dumbfounded expression.

‘Let him rest for a while, Dagna. He’s just woken up from an induced coma.’ Fiona pleaded.

From his part, Samson could barely believe what those people had done to him and how things had taken such an unexpected turn.

_What the fuck. I can’t even kill myself in peace. Why are those people fussing over me? What the hell do they want? Do they expect me to confess some secret information about Corypheus? The Inquisitor didn’t even want me interrogated. She just shoved me in a goddamn cell and left me to rot._

‘Hey! Who the fuck told you to keep me alive?’

Fiona dropped her staff and stared at him with a look of utter shock.

‘Maker’s breath, what on earth...’

‘Mind your language.’ Alexius warned in a low tone.

_Fuck you, old geezer._

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Am I too foul mouthed for your delicate ears? Pardon my French, but I don’t give a fuck for what you think. I want some answers. Now!’

Even debilitated as he was, his voice still commanded respect. The others seemed uncertain and hesitated. Finally, Alexius summoned the courage to reply:

‘That... is something you’ll have to ask her directly. Once you’ve fully recovered.’ He stressed the ‘once’, lifting his index.

He let out a frustrated growl.

‘So her Inquisitorial Royal Arseness is too high and mighty to let me know why she strips my dignity? What does she think, that people are hers to use as she sees fit?’

The three of them remained silent, exchanging a few worried glances rather than talk back. Samson just carried on with his rant.

‘Piss on it! I don’t owe her a damn thing. Nothing! I know what she wants. She wants the power of the red lyrium for herself. She’s just testing to see if she can render her soldiers immune to its effects. But she won’t find out.’ He gave a sick laugh from the bottom of his throat.

‘Of course not! You really think she’d expose any of her people to that accursed thing? She’s not like you or Corypheus.’ Dagna retorted.

‘Don’t you dare throw that to my face, dwarf. This whole Herald of Andraste cult is a sick joke! Who are you trying to fool? You’re not talking to a fucking novice recruit. I’ve been a templar for more than six years before Meredith kicked me out.’ He called the former Knight-Commander ‘that bitch’ under his breath ‘The Inquisition is an armed branch of the Chantry, ready to strike any group that dares to challenge its authority again.’

Dagna threw him a look of disgust and retorted again. She was having none of it.

’Sure, she’s going to help the very institution that wanted her dead not too long ago. Just a small detail you conveniently forgot, smartass!’

‘You think I don’t know that she put one of her own people on the sunburst throne?’

The look Dagna gave him made his lips form a crooked smile.

‘Heh! You idiots must really worship her. You have no idea of the power play that’s going on behind this saviour-of-Thedas fantasy going on. It’s sickening!’

The dwarf was about to reply, but Alexius interrupted her before she could utter another word.

‘Dagna, where are the results of the blood tests we ran this morning?’

The dwarf rushed to a desk, leaving Samson alone with his spite. The former templar dared open his eyes a bit and followed her busy figure for a while as she searched around for the paperwork. There was no use in arguing with these people. To them, the Inquisitor was invulnerable, the messenger of the Maker himself incarnate. He let out an audible sigh and dropped his head on the pillow.

 

For the remainder of the week, Samson’s routine consisted of lying down on the Healing Wing doing nothing. The three people, Alexius, Fiona and Dagna – that insufferably bubbly dwarf, as he privately called her – tended to his remaining wounds and fed him elixirs every two hours, closely watching the treatment’s results.

They would also puncture his arm and insert a needle connecting to strange tubes, through where his dark red blood flew. In the first days, Samson was actually horrified to see how dirty the substance that flowed in his veins was.

‘It will resume its original red colour. Give it time.’ The dwarf reassured him, pumping new blood in his body through another tube.

 

...

 

Days passed. He wouldn’t admit it to his captors, but each new morning, Samson felt his strength return to him. He could now stare at the luminous blank space above him without hurting his eyes. With a turn of his head, he had discovered a few days ago that the light was actually due to a window positioned right on top of his bed.

‘What in blazes...you just let the sunlight fry the patient’s skulls? Where the hell are the curtains of this thing?’

Fiona twirled her staff and a dark fog covered the glass.

‘This damn light nearly blinded me. I might’ve developed eye cancer without knowing.’ He ranted on.

Dagna was fed up with his constant moaning and whatnots.

‘Oh, shut up. You’re such a sourpuss.’

‘I am what, now?’

She stifled a laugh and turned her back to him, walking away. He still called after her, but Fiona forced him back to sleep with a spell.

 

**The next day...**

 

‘I don’t think there’s much more we can do about it. I’ve drained all my resources.’

‘Thank you, Gereon. You’ve helped us understand much more about the red lyrium.’

‘Forgive me, but I’ll only be satisfied until I hear it from the Inquisitor in person, Fiona.’

A sleepy yawn came from the bed and they went to tend to their patient.

‘He’s woken up earlier today.’ The magister remarked.

‘Is that a good sign or a bad sign?’ she added.

Alexius bent over him and analyzed his pupils. Samson wanted nothing more than to keep away from him, but his limbs still didn’t promptly answer.

‘No longer bloodshot. I’d say we’ve accomplished a miracle. When he was brought here, I was sure there was not much to be done. I should be promoted for this.’

Samson let out a stiff laugh.

‘Why not? The Inquisitor likes to get cozy with tevinters.’

The magister was losing the little patience he had.

‘Now how could you come up with that?’

He lifted his hand in a non-threatening motion and swiftly grabbed the golden necklace dangling from the man’s neck.

‘The two serpents. Her mage friend had this on his neck, too.’ And he spat on the ground near the magister.

Alexius kept his dignified posture as Samson ranted on, bearing his crooked teeth at him as his lips formed a snarl.

‘I’m sure she’ll give you everything you want, magister. Just keep finding new ways to employ your magic to her service.’ He emphasized the word‘magic’ ‘I bet the Chantry already has a new kind of lyrium underway...and millions of soldiers in Skyhold willing and ready to serve their Herald.’

He shoved the man with unnecessary brusqueness, disgusted at his sight. He saw it all now; or at least he believed he saw. The Inquisitor was using Tevinter knowledge and magic resources to study the red lyrium and refine it to a point where it could more efficiently control the templars. And he was the guinea pig for these experiments.

‘If this were any other leader ahead of such an influential institution, I’d agree with you. But I’m not here, wasting my time, tending to you for my benefit.’ Alexius replied quite calmly ‘The Inquisitor has reason to seek a cure for the red lyrium corruption. It is a threat to anyone, she thinks. I thought my days here would be wasted, but she actually found some use for my abilities. If I were back in Tevinter, I’m afraid I would be too busy to bother with the red lyrium widespread.’

_Oh, fuck off. Using a lot of fancy words to say nothing in the end. Typical._

He dropped his head on a pillow again. So those bastards wouldn’t tell him why he was there? Why they siphoned his entire blood out of him? Maker, he didn’t even know whose blood was pumping through his veins, now.

With a swift motion, he grasped the dwarf’s arm, startling her by accident.

‘Oy! What blood did you pour back in me?’

Dagna exchanged a look with Fiona and said:

‘Her blood.’

His mouth quivered with her reply.

‘What?’

Alexius proceeded to explain.

‘Fiona was once a Grey Warden. Like you, she was corrupted by the taint. However, after giving birth, the corruption all but left her body. Now, we know for a fact that the baby is healthy. His blood is clean. So how is it possible mother and child no longer bear any traces of it? Where did the taint travel to?’

This time, Samson made no snarky remarks.

‘The answer, as Dagna and I researched in the past few months, lies in the blood of the uterus. At the moment of conception, new cells are formed from the old ones. It so happens that this process generates a natural antibody that actually “shuts down” the aggressiveness of the tainted blood. This is nature’s own mechanism for protecting the baby. The child will be born with antibodies and won’t die from the taint in the future. As for the mother, well...You see, the person still carries it within her, but it is now dormant. And overtime, as her blood naturally produces new cells and discards the old ones, her health is re-established until her body goes back to her condition previous to acquiring the taint.’ He concluded with a satisfied smile.

Samson just stared at him, feeling like an idiot. Was he hearing what he thought he was hearing? Had the cure for the taint finally been discovered?

‘It doesn’t always work, though.’ Dagna commented ‘Some people’s bloods are incompatible. What we did to you was replace half of all the blood in your system with magically reproduced blood from Fiona’s uterus. Luckily, we had a fresh supply already in stock. Otherwise, you would have transformed in a red templar. Or died.’

Samson was torn between wander and nausea. He had uterus blood running through his veins? How fucked up was that in comparison to sniffing red powder and not going mad with Corypheus’ voice echoing constantly in his head? If he didn’t know that dwarf was crazy enough to attempt something like this, he’d find this whole story too farfetched.

He lay down in bed again, pondering what they had told him. His head began to hurt. _Could all this be true?_

He heard the door open and tried to turn to look who was coming in. But before he even moved, Fiona had cast another sleeping spell.

 

**The next morning...**

 

‘I don’t want him being forced to leave his bed before he is fit again.’ He heard the dwarf complain loudly outside.

‘Oh, for Gods’ sake, Dagna. It’s been more than a month, already. A few energizing spells and he’ll be walking and fighting again.’ Answered the magister.

‘You can’t keep someone on magic alone! It’s harmful for his health in the long term.  You know that!’ She retorted.

Samson just listened to his own, steady breath as those three bickered outside.

‘I bet the Inquisitor wants to see me, now.’ He murmured to himself ‘Maybe I’ll surprise her.’ He opened a sadistic smile.

He tried regaining control of his arms, but they felt like two iron logs. He breathed in a steady, controlled rhythm, just as he used to when he was training in the Gallows and tried lifting them. He managed to keep them up for a couple of seconds before they came crashing down on the bed.

His left hand fell on a table nearby, shattering some of its contents.

A torrent of profanities left his mouth and he could hear the three people come back inside. Dagna hurriedly rearranged her equipment, cursing under her breath when she realized she’d have to rebuild some of the irreparable pieces. Fiona advised him against trying to get up, revealing he couldn’t lift his limbs because they placed a spell on him. His body was still adapting to the blood transfusion. He’d need a few more days.

‘Undo the spell.’ He demanded silently.

She hesitated to comply.

‘Godammit, undo it woman!’

She crossed her arms, looking down at him seriously. Alexius glanced at her and decided to do it in her stead. She tried to protest, but he reassured her that, if he fainted, they could use a levitation spell to avoid a serious accident. And at least, he wouldn’t bother them again with such request.

The heavy sensation was lifted and Samson felt he could now move freely. He made a swift motion with his arm and grabbed the side of the bed. Fighting back the feeling of weakness which threatened to overwhelm him, he managed to sit on the bed. His head hurt like hell and his vision as half blurred. For a moment, he thought he would faint, but his blood pressure was slowly stabilizing.

‘Well, I’ll be damned. The man is stronger than a bull. He may not look like that, but anyway. You’ve been blessed by the Gods, son! They have given you a second chance.’ Exclaimed Alexius.

‘Screw your Gods, tevinter. They are the reason why things like the Chantry were created in the first place.’ He growled, staring at the mage with bitterness.

‘And he’s back to his old, grumpy self. Hurray!’ Dagna cheered.

He heard footsteps from the door and a shadowy figure approached the group. It had both its hands behind its back as it stood in a military posture. The others automatically spun their heads in its direction.

‘I believe our work here is truly done **, Inquisitor**. As of today, Samson is a living example of how red lyrium can be successfully siphoned out of the human body. Thanks to your resources, you have accomplished a miracle.’

_Inquisitor? What the fuck? She was here? All the time? Ugh, my head..._

‘Well done. This is not something I could’ve done without your assistance, Gereon. When you have some time, we’ll discuss your request for a visit to Tevinter.’

Alexius gave a respectful bow, genuinely grateful.

‘Are you alright, Fiona? How was the transfer?’

‘It’s quite alright, Inquisitor. Much of the blood we needed was already available. My efforts were directed to assisting Alexius with the spells needed.’ She reassured the woman.

The Inquisitor turned her head to the dwarf next.

‘I believed you have discovered everything you wanted. Am I correct in assuming that much, Dagna?’

‘Uhum. Although I would advise you let sourpuss here rest for another hour. Just to make sure he doesn’t faint when talking to you.’

The Inquisitor opened a small smile, which was equivalent to a laugh.

‘Go ahead and make fun of me while I’m weak. I’m just glad I finally got rid of your irritating presence, dwarf.’ he sounded deeply annoyed.

‘I shall miss you, too.’ She replied before leaving with her equipment.

‘So, you’ve made some new friends, I assume?’

It took Samson a few moments to realize the Inquisitor was addressing him. He snorted at the sudden familiarity in her tone.

‘What is this? Do you think I’m some sorry bastard you can conquer with your female charm and twist to your designs? May you rot after Corypheus wipes you and your kind from the face of Thedas! I’ll personally shake his hand for that. And then, take a long, nice piss on your corpse.’

Surprisingly, Alexius was bothered by his lack of tact.

‘There’s no need to speak to her like that!’

‘Oh shut up, magister.’ He stressed the last word, his tone dripping with spite.

But the Inquisitor didn’t seem shaken by his rude remark.

‘Corypheus might try, but he’s in an uncomfortable position right now. There are no more allies he can turn against each other. The mages have settled down. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be done for the templars.’

‘Brings a tear to the eye.’ He said with even more sarcasm.

There was a short pause when she made a silent scrutiny of his condition.

‘My team of Healers managed to bring you back from the dead. I know they are capable, but still, the fact you survived is...curious, to say the least.’

Samson snorted again in disbelief.

‘Are you gonna say the Maker intervened on my behalf? Well, he can go fuck himself.’

‘Why?’ she asked carefully.

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t feel like sharing the story of my life with you, Inquisitah.’ He mocked her title, pronouncing it wrong on purpose ‘Like I said before, I’m done talking.’

_Your kind never listens to mine, anyway..._

The pain in his head diminished, but he tried to get up and found out he was still too weak. He reluctantly sat back again with the help of Alexius. He hated the Inquisitor was seeing him in such a fragile state. Twice already he was before her in a situation of impotence.

_Talk about humiliation._

The Inquisitor spoke again.

‘You’re angry, now, for many reasons. But soon, you’ll realize you’ve been handed a second chance.’

Still with his eyes hurting like hell and feeling nauseous, Samson merely growled a reply.

‘I don’t believe in second chances.’

_I ain’t got that in me anymore. I just got the thirst and the dust._

His dead serious tone punctured the hopeful balloon that had been hovering above everyone’s heads for a while. Alexius let out a prolonged sigh and announced he’d take a long rest and wouldn’t want to be disturbed for the next month or so.

 ‘We’ll be watching him for another hour. Don’t worry, Inquisitor. If something happens, the mages can take care of it.’ he reassured her.

‘We’ll be watching over our patient. The sourpuss is in good hands.’ Fiona added with a mischievous expression.

‘Oh, curse you, you bunch of motherless, sick bastards...’ Samson continued muttering his angry rant under his breath.

The Inquisitor left the Healing Wing and asked them to send a messenger notifying her when Samson would be up and about. She would have several questions for him. And she wanted them answered as quickly as possible.


	3. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Samson vociferates all his rage at the one he calls the Chantry puppet only to see his assumptions be contradicted one by one as the Prophet's Herald reveals her true face to him.
> 
> First dialog between Samson and the Inquisitor; hence the length.

** **

_**“I don’t believe in second chances.”** _

**An hour later...**

 

He had slept all day. This was the first time he managed to get up without anyone’s help. The first thing he did was to carefully bend over, grab the chamber pot and take a long piss while those two meddlesome mages were not around. His face contorted in an expression of utter delight, appreciating the lonesome moment of release. The sensation of urine cascading from his body was bliss. And the sound of the liquid flowing endlessly to the metal pot was like music to his ears.

Oh, how he missed that daily ritual after a full month strapped to that bed against his will...

The door suddenly burst open and he cursed under his breath, shaking his member as fast as he could and hurriedly hiding the pot. He then fastened the buttons of this trousers, flattened the pillow and pretended he went back to sleep.

_Fuck. I can’t even take a piss in peace in this place. Can’t die, can’t piss. I bet they even watch you through a keyhole without telling you while you take a shi-_

‘John Samson Stratford, we’ve come to take you to the Inquisitor’s presence.’

_What the hell. Had she actually sent guards to fetch him? In his debilitated condition?_

He pretended he was still feeling sorely ill and simulated vomiting on his bed. The guards hesitated to come in and called for Fiona.

As soon as she realized he was alright, she punished him with a particularly fierce spell that shook his entire metabolism. Muttering about treacherous mages, he reluctantly got up and made to follow the guards.

His hair was unkempt, a wild black mess of entangled threads that cascaded on the back of his head, not having been cut in a month. His beard had been clumsily shaven not two days ago when they needed to be able to locate his mouth to force elixirs down his throat. The hair on his face was sparse and grew irregularly. Not to say anything of his oily skin, that had acquired an unpleasant yellowish tinge. Other than that, his body smelled strongly and his breath would make even a drunkard collapse on the floor.

Fiona was appalled by his lack of morning hygiene.

‘Aren’t you at least going to wash yourself?’

He lazily turned his head to her and arched an eyebrow, displaying a scowl. He was ready to give her a nice, nasty retort, but the mage just murmured for him to forget it and went to mind her own business.

‘Wise choice.’ He murmured under his breath, glad he once got to display his open dislike for those boot lickers.

...

 

They clad him in irons, with a long chain connecting the manacles on his wrists to the ones on his feet. The guards held him by the elbow, marching on the battlements. Samson noticed that was not the way to Skyhold’s main building. If anything, the path they took indicated their destination lay in one of the farthest towers.

_Not heading to her office?_

After fifteen minutes of constant march, where they went through many unused rooms in the fortress – and Samson couldn’t believe how the mighty Inquisition still hadn’t fixed all that mess -, the figure of a lonely woman in uniform, with the one-eyed insignia on her chest crafted in a sturdy metal plaque finally came into view.

The symbol of power incarnate. The one person the whole of Thedas was slowly learning to acknowledge and fear.

His body shivered with eager anticipation. Not a pleasant sensation, though. He sensed she wasn’t like Duncan, Meredith, or any other authority figure he had ever met. If anything, her brisk and distant demeanour at his trial reminded him of Corypheus.

He made a quick appraisal of her personality. He could tell she had a focused mind. In battle, he had learned she was an enemy who observed first and attacked later. The kind of warrior who held back, never revealing her strategy until the timing was right. Always shrewd, ready to cut where it hurt the most.

She had what you could call a beautiful visage, sporting a minor scar on her chin and another over her left eyebrow. She sported a serene expression. This was someone prone to conserve their strength. She was young, much younger than he was. Around her mid-twenties, he speculated. As for her eyes, they contrasted with the rest of her face. Their shape indicated an affectionate nature, but her irises...her stare was so hard it hurt if you faced it for too long. They pierced you with their intensity.

 ‘That kind face sure is deceitful.’ He murmured under his breath, not caring if the guards heard him or not. For his standards, she was a real sweetheart. But austere. Very. Which unpleasantly reminded him of Meredith.

The men saluted her and announced they had brought the prisoner as per her request.

‘Inquisitah.’ He made a mocking bow, the chains chinking as he lowered his body ‘What can I do for you?’

Her face remained impassive, as though set in stone. ‘Release the manacles on his wrists. Leave only the legs chained.’ She ordered in a monotone.

The guards hesitated for a second, visibly afraid the prisoner would attempt something against her if left unchecked. But her word was the law. Samson stared at her dumbfounded. Why was she doing this? She had all the means available to get a confession from him. Didn’t she have Commander Cullen at her disposal to do just that? He rubbed his now free wrists, still eyeing her with a suspicious look.

‘Good. Now leave us. We have much to discuss.’ The guards stared at each other, unsure, but saluted her and walked back to the main tower.

There was an awkward silence between the two of them as they waited for the door to close. The woman kept her eyes lowered, assuming a discreet stance so as to avoid any embarrassing moments between them _._ Once the guards were gone, he saw her lift her eyes and the hard stare had softened. She let out a relieved sigh and adopted a relaxed posture. The austere woman seemed to transform before his very eyes. Her lips no longer formed a thin line and her shoulders had dropped a bit. There was also a kindled fire that lit her eyes, illuminating the dark void of before.

‘You must be wondering why I went to the trouble of submitting you to all this.’ She begun.

‘Oh? And here I thought you just called me for a chit chat.’

In spite of herself, she could feel her face crack in response to his sarcasm. Samson watched as a twinkle played on her eyes. Then, she pursed her lips so as not to let them twist into a smile there and then.

_Well, I’ll be damned. She actually finds me funny._

With a perverse thought, he began to understand why he was in the battlements alone with her and not in a dark interrogation room, having his teeth and nails pulled as the guards tore a confession out of him.

‘What d’you know. The Inquisitor likes to warm up to her prisoners.’ Came the sly remark. And he spat on the ground.

He could envision what would come next. Like any other feminine figurehead, she would garner his sympathy and make him voluntarily work for her. _Women,_ he shook his head. _They were the same everywhere._  

He was in no mood to cooperate with her. If anything, he was even gladder he hadn’t bathed, nor shaved that afternoon. He would have nothing to do with that Chantry puppet. Ten years he had to suffer without having proper medical care because the Grand Cleric turned her face away. And now they dared use him for their sordid experiments?

Better to die standing on your feet than be bound to your sworn enemy in servitude. If he had his way, he would endeavour to be so offensive they would be forced to behead him.

But whatever reaction he expected of her, this was not what he had in mind. She heard his hateful words. She did see him spit. And then...her face contorted in an amused expression.

‘Finally someone normal around here. I was beginning to think everyone felt the need to worship the Inquisition. Or fear it.’

He stared at her, taken aback, suspicious she were playing mind games with him.

‘I noticed your history is quite confusing. There are gaps in the reports I read. If possible, I’d like to review some of the information with you.’

He shoved her formality aside, hating that bureaucratic speech coming out of her mouth.

‘Ah. So now you’re interested in the story of my life.’ His tone reeked of cynicism ‘Tell me, Inquisitah. Are you craving to know the sordid details of my past? Do you wish to know how many balls I had to lick in Lowtown so as not to starve? How I spent my days among smugglers and cut-throats? How I filled my empty nights serenading fat, unhappily married wenches in return for some free pussy?’

He hoped she would flinch, but she remained impassive. So he droned on.

‘Or how about when I robbed passersby before the guard found out and roughed me up in the interrogation room? How I cracked a templar’s skull with a rock just to steal his supply of lyrium?  How they shoved my head in a bucket of water many times and then forgot me in solitary confinement for a week for not confessing having smuggled a mage kid?’

‘The Knight-Commander refused your reinstatement in the order after the Champion of Kirkwall brought forth you name to her.’ She suddenly stated, not giving signs of having been bothered by his confession. He had played his foulest card and elicited no response.

_Andraste’s ass, what’s the matter with this woman? Her face didn’t even crack. She’s just staring back at me with those placid eyes, blinking lazily after I threw that load of bullshit at her. What kind of person looks like a frigging stone statue?_

Maker’s balls, she was worse than Meredith. At least the Knight-Commander would have punched him and ordered him back to the brig by now. He felt unclean and realized he must look like a fool now after that explicit display.

‘I don’t see how that’s any of your business. Get to the point, Inquisitor.’ He snarled, tired of trying to intimidate her and failing to do so.

‘From the little that I could tell, your story resembles that of my brother, Gerald. He died of lyrium withdrawal after he was expelled from the Order, eight years ago.’

The tone of her voice was neutral when she shared that fact with him, but he could tell she was holding back the pain. And she did it quite well. Her face was an impassive mask made of white marble.

 ‘At the time, he was en route to Rivain on a mission for the Knight-Commander, trying to earn his shield back. It had been only two months after he had been kicked out. He came straight home after that. My father had to buy lyrium directly from Orzammar to keep my brother’s addiction. Seeing him ingest that blue stuff made me feel nauseous. But there was no other choice.’ 

_How can we be similar? He had a home to return to. Someone to look after him, someone who cared._

‘The ship where they were was destroyed in a storm and they were rescued many days later by a Qunari dreadnought. His captors took the survivors to Par Vollen. They were to be converted. But the Qun does not allow for any kind of addiction.’ She lowered her eyes, swallowing hard.

It was like being slapped in the face. She had had firsthand experience with someone close who had suffered one of the many secret pains every templar was forced to endure at some point in their lives. And like him, when the time came to save those she cared about, her hands were tied. All that was left was a remembrance of the people lost to the withdrawal.

He swallowed hard and stared back at her. He hadn’t expected that. Maker’s balls, then this is what this was all about?

‘How long had he been in the Order?’ he asked in a low, soft tone.

‘Fifteen years.’

‘Maker’s breath...’ he murmured. Samson had been taking lyrium for five years before he ceased being a templar. If he almost died during his first withdrawal, then that young man must’ve suffered hell before passing away.

‘What a way to die.’ He accidentally let slip. He looked back at her, horrified ‘Er, I mean...Forgive me, I...’

She gave a dry smile, wishing she had been there in his final moments.

‘He must’ve begged for the Qunari to end his life. But you know them; they waste no resources.’ She grimly concluded.

He had made wrong assumptions about her. He didn’t know what to say after all the crap he made her hear. They both stood in mutual silence; Samson, from his part, out of respect for her mourn and for not quite knowing what to say.

‘Please walk with me, Samson. There are... things I wish to talk to you. In private. If you would accompany me, that is.’

_Wait a minute. She was asking him to walk with her? Asking, not demanding?_

He couldn’t believe the way she was treating him and had to mentally slap himself to wake up from his sudden trance. Her voice had lost the sharp tone and was now a lot softer, as though she were talking to a welcome guest or a newfound friend.

‘‘If I could...? Er, I mean, of course, Inquisitor.’ He replied, clearing his throat, walking alongside her on the battlements. The night breeze caressed their faces and the sunset shared the sky with the first stars.

 

**Half an hour later...**

 

She had engaged him in a conversation concerning the state of cities across Southern Thedas as the Inquisition was summoned to help resolve many issues that had risen in the past few months. Thedas was hardly the peaceful land one expected it to be by now.

There were reports coming everyday from Ferelden and Orlais of soldiers rebelling against their commanders, feeling their leadership had failed them. Either they starved because supplies never arrived or they were thrust in battle against impossible odds; abominations, red templars and other horrors awaited them with bated breath. Many had died and the few who survived deserted and went to join the Inquisition. The institution was now seen as the last haven for those who searched for stability in times of uncertainty.

‘I bet you thrive in that knowledge.’ He remarked, cynical. More soldiers at her disposal, to carry out the Chantry’s armed branch’s agenda.

‘I didn’t want this. Corypheus knew where to strike. He knew all our weak spots and went straight for them. The moment the Chantry crumbled in Kirkwall, we stood no chance at defending ourselves against an outsider.’

Samson merely issued a hum from his throat. She was right about that.

‘Are you throwing soldiers to fight against abominations?’ came the sly question.

‘More like they throw themselves. The few templars that joined our side before the Templar Order was overtaken have passed on their skills to the men. Cullen has been supervising them.’

‘Giving them their daily dose of lyrium. Making sure their leash is in place.’ He murmured in a cynical tone again.

‘They’re clean.’ She remarked.

Samson merely snorted. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘Don’t believe my word?’

‘Of course I do.’ He said in a dulcet tone. His words dripped sarcasm.

She pointed to a facility not too far from where they stood. That was where the military training grounds were. The large three-store house near it was the templars and soldiers’ collective quarters.

‘If you can find a single drop of lyrium in there, bring it to me. But you won’t. Commander Cullen has made it clear lyrium is forbidden to enter Skyhold.’

He turned his face to her, creasing his forehead. How did the former Knight-Captain cope with his addiction, then?

She narrated his long fight against lyrium addiction. The withdrawal hadn’t killed him thanks to Solas’ help. The elf had concocted a potion that numbed his insides and made the pain bearable.

Questions exploded in his mind. But he never needed ask any of them.

‘It took much of his willpower to resist falling into his old addiction again. So I set a step-by-step program for him to follow. Me, Solas and Vivienne took turns to watch him and make sure he was making steady progress. He had several relapses. Once, he passed out in the War Room. He felt so ashamed he was furious when we forbade him to resume his addictive habits merely for the sake of saving face. We had many arguments and I even went into a fistfight with him during one if his worst phases. But by three months’ time, his body no longer missed the substance. He was forever free of the addiction.’

Samson didn’t know what to say. All his life, he believed the withdrawal was fatal. Wasn’t that the Chantry’s diatribe? The very reason why he hadn’t managed to save his remaining troops back in Kirkwall all those years ago and accepted Corypheus’ offer instead?

A dark shadow covered his features and he went into a deadly silence. Another deceit played by the Chantry...was there anything they said that were remotely truthful?

_All those years ago, I should have swallowed my pride and departed with Cullen after all..._

Something was amiss. Why had she dragged him to such a remote location? Why did it matter that he knew these things about her or her fortress? He suspected it had something to do with her deceased brother, some story she wasn’t sharing with him. But what?

Before he could ask her, she confessed she had been paying regular visits to the Healing Wing without his knowledge. _So that was why I kept hearing the door open, but no one ever came in_. She also told him she overheard all his complaints about the Inquisition.

His throat went suddenly dry. He had spit those harsh words out of spite. Those were not things one said to another’s face, unless they knew each other intimately.

‘You should know I put Cassandra’s name forth so that she would bring an end to the Chantry’s corruption. She’s been promoting many reforms. The first one was to ensure mages had some useful role outside the Circle.  You can now find Healers rendering services in many cities. The templars still watch them, but they no longer take lyrium.’

‘How do they disrupt spells and resist blood magic?’

‘Apparently, you can learn the techniques only by being exposed to lyrium once; there’s no need to keep feeding on it. Dagna even has this theory that lyrium was never meant to be ingested.’

He didn’t know what to say. And then, she surprised him by talking of...him. Of his past. The one he thought no one knew very well about.

‘I asked Cullen about your background. He grudgingly gave me a report. This is not his favourite subject, after all.’

_Pity. He once thought I was a good man. Heh, what does he know...being thrown in the gutter and desperately taking any crazy offer to take your dignity back certainly makes people see you with less sympathy._

‘I expected a more...gruesome story. But I was surprised to hear nothing of the sort. He told me you were respected in the Order before Meredith took charge. And that the reason you were expelled was insignificant, to say the least.’

He was taken back to the days when he met Maddox and his throat was no longer dry.

‘Yeah. The last time I saw Maddox was many years later. I heard his girlfriend was devastated when she heard he was made Tranquil. Poor thing. A contact of mine told me once she tried to sneak in the Gallows to see if the rumours were true. He not only didn’t recognize her, but actually sold her out to Meredith. She had to flee Kirkwall so as to not be arrested and interrogated.’ He said in his crooked tone, sounding slightly heartbroken.

‘So these episodes were common under Meredith’s rule. A Knight-Commander should know better.’ She commented.

He threw her a suspicious glance. Did she really agree with him or was she egging him on to learn something, some information she could extract from him in a moment of blind trust?

‘The Chantry has no laws regarding if a man can be thrown out of the Order without having the means to sustain his addiction.’ She remarked.

‘That’s right.’ He replied feeling unsure, his heart beating faster. _She wasn’t going to talk about the years he spent as a filthy beggar in Kirkwall’s streets, was she? Maker’s balls..._

As he feared, she droned on the subject.

‘Cullen didn’t have much on you. I asked everywhere about reports and testimonies of the ten years that followed your expulsion. I sought the Chantry itself, acquaintances from the Circle in Ostwick, former Knight-Commander Greagoir, whom my father knew from his days as a knight-templar...But no one was even remotely aware of what happened to templars who just got thrown out. The least vague replies all pointed to one inevitable fate: suicide.’ She told him in a silent tone.

He swallowed a few times, reminded of his own attempt not a few weeks ago.

‘But you managed to survive. You refused to give in. Do I understand this correctly? You withstood withdrawal pains for ten years? Struggled with addiction for almost half of your life?’

He was certainly not in the mood to talk about it. And yet...

_That wretched feeling in his gut, which had tormented him for countless nights, that deprived him of proper sleep and ripped his sanity to shreds was gone. The madness, the frenzy were finally behind him.  Samson would no longer have to beg in his life for “a shot”. The irresistible pull he felt toward lyrium was no longer. It was now a foreign feeling._

_For ten years he had asked for this deliverance and it never came. Now that he had finally accepted his fate and tried to terminate his own life, he got his wish. Wasn’t it funny how things worked?_

What the hell. She wanted to know about it? He’d tell her. All of it.

‘Yeah. I didn’t give up. Because I knew I had done nothing wrong. Me and so many others.’

He went on and on talking about Meredith and her tyrannical actions against him, of how she robbed of his dignity while other templars abused mages in the Gallows as she looked the other way. According to Samson, what she needed was merely a justification to get rid of the templars who served under the previous Knight-Commander. More than anything, she wanted to instate new templars, ones that would be absolutely faithful to her.

‘It didn’t happen only to me. Good people were discredited in the Oder for doing good service. Sir Emeric, as I understood, died in the gutter while investigating a blood mage. Turns out his warnings were all but ignored. They had six years to hunt down this guy! But what did Meredith do? Apologised to the mage when Emeric went to investigate him. Heh.’

‘The more I heard about her actions, the more I knew all the wrong things in the city had her finger behind it. Sure, she may have been right about the blood mages assaulting the city now and then, but that doesn’t excuse what she did.’ He paused, feeling the weight lifting from his chest ‘I bet Cullen has no idea. He was so excited to have earned his promotion just after he arrived in Kirkwall.’

‘She promoted him that quickly?’

‘Aye. To Knight-Captain. Meredith knew he had been tortured by a blood mage. The perfect templar to follow her without question. A pity he only realized the error in her ways when it was almost too late.’ He grimly concluded.

‘I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like, to live in Kirkwall after the civil war. After Meredith’s death, the Chantry should’ve stepped up. It didn’t. It let everything fall apart. All they cared about until a few months ago was to get me killed. Later, their concern shifted to the election of a new Divine. While the sky is pouring demons.’

‘They tried to have you killed?’ he meekly asked.

‘‘They hoped I would die. And when I didn’t, they suddenly wanted to be friends with me.’

‘Huh. Priests. Typical.’ He said with scorn.

‘This whole affair was a disgrace. We are living in times where authority has failed us.’ She mused.

‘Yeah.’ He mimicked her soft tone.

There was a long pause while they just stood side by side admiring the scenery. He cast furtive glances at her now and then. She didn’t seem to mind. It felt odd to be by the Inquisitor’s side like this. No words exchanged, just a comfortable silence between them. And yet, he felt a strange comfort begin to grow in his chest.

‘You know, I read your letters in Therinfal Redoubt.’ She said suddenly.

‘Really?’ he replied, nonchalant.

_Great. Now she’s going to comment on my poor leadership._

‘You were worried about the effects the red lyrium would have in your colleagues. You even warned the Lord Seeker not to let them feel any kind of pain. As I recall, you also tried convincing Cullen to abandon the Inquisition. I believe what you truly meant for him was to abandon the Chantry. What you believed to be the armed branch of the Chantry, that is.’  

_Was he fooling himself or was this woman capable of seeing  past his gruesome appearance?_

‘Y-yeah. That’s right. But...look, I know you’re not with them.’

‘Aren’t I?’ she turned her gaze to him.

The Inquisitor knew the grave accusations he had made behind her back, the horrible things he had called her. The talks of forming a private army, fueled by red lyrium. But the look on her face told him she wasn’t demanding satisfaction. It was something else.

_She does care for what I think. But why? I’m just a junkie to everyone else. Why even talk to me? What does she want from me? What am I to her?_

Just as it was before his treatment began, she refused to provide him with straight answers.

‘I barely know you at all.’ He stated, returning a confused look to her.

She lowered her eyes, thinking on how to best tell him the story. Then she began narrating the events prior to her life in the Inquisition:

‘As you know, the surname Trevelyan is on everyone’s lips these days. But my family had achieved status way before my time as Inquisitor.’

She told him of her four brothers before Gerald was deceased. Her mother and father had educated their children to expand the family’s influence and territory. One brother became a general in King Cailan’s army, joining Loghain much later. The other married Lady Malchevin, a rich young widower from Orlais. The third remained responsible for managing the family’s businesses in Ferelden. As for the fourth, Gerald was the only one who rejected having anything to do with their family’s ambitions. On his eighteenth birthday, he went to join the Chantry and became a templar.’

‘You Fereldans always had so many kids.’

‘You Free Marchers don’t?’

He rubbed his chin.

‘We live in cities. Big ones. The nobility usually has one heir or two per family. The parents invest their efforts in preparing him to represent the family in meetings and social gatherings. The spare sibling ends up joining the Chantry. When they don’t go to join the Circle. Didn’t, in the case of Kirkwallers.’ He added, reminded of the destruction of both the Chantry and the Circle by that terrorist apostate.

‘Fereldans would never make do with only one child. You need to spread your seed everywhere. That’s the only way to have trustworthy people watching over your lands.’

‘I guess the popular saying applies here. Life in the countryside is nothing like in the city.’ He casually commented ‘So how was your relationship with your brothers?’

‘Gerald and I were the closest siblings. My other brothers had their heads fed with our parents’ obsessive greed. During the last local war with a landlord who tried to take his neighbours’ property, our father marched with George, my eldest brother and hastily sent Patrick, the second eldest, across the Orlesian border, to keep him safe. Mother fussed over James, who was her favourite son, since he did everything she requested of him. Ever since a tender age, he was quite the little rascal.’

‘An early sign of business sense, finding out what people want and providing to them as a way to exchange favours.’ He remarked.

‘Mother didn’t have the patience to look after all of us. Not only that, but the family’s treasury was being drained by the war. So she sent me and Gerald to stay with our grandfather. He spoke of our father with sadness. He said that it was with a heavy heart that he saw the mistakes he was committing, one after another. He told us father was possessed by a blinding madness, that he saw a chance and would end up sacrificing his family and all he and his ancestors built to chase after it. ’

Samson was enraptured by the story. He had heard of the feudal wars between the Fereldan landlords. They made for great Historic tales. There were one or two his mother had told him and that he still remembered. Well, bits and pieces of it, to be honest. He never imagined he’d be hearing of a war that had been going on quite recently, though.

‘Hadn’t most of the Ferelden countryside been in relative peace by now? I thought the Banns resorted to diplomacy these days.’ He questioned.

‘That was what my grandfather reminded us of. But father thought otherwise. And mother wholeheartedly supported his expansionist goals. As a result, when father returned from the war, the Trevelyans now held three times as many lands as before...and had collected a lot of enemies. We were also indebted to our necks, a problem my father resolved by collecting taxes of every fereldan now under his service.’

‘That must’ve earned him some antipathies.’

‘A lot. Every year, there was a peasant’s revolt. And me and Gerald had to keep order in the lands. I forget how many times I had to slay innocents when things got out of hand.’

‘You did kill them?’ he exclaimed.

‘Not at first. After the first revolt, when the peasants wouldn’t settle for the established tax, I argued with father. He threatened to dishonour me and send me on my way. I had no choice. And I wasn’t going to let Gerald deal with his fury all alone.’

Her stare was hard and she rarely blinked. She then confessed having done this for over six years before finally being fed up. But that wasn’t the worst of this.

‘My brothers had always thought less of me and Gerald. We were “grandfather’s favourites”. To them, we lacked our parents’ vision for the future. We were misaligned with the family’s interests. And thus, we... had to...

‘To what?’ he delicately asked, since she went dead silent.

‘...be punished for it. In every way.’ She replied in a hoarse voice.

Her stare was turned downwards and there were creases forming in her otherwise smooth forehead. The corners of her lips had dropped and there were no more traces of a smile. Only sadness lingered there now. The air was thick and she held her breath, not daring to speak more of such an uncomfortable subject.

She has a hard time speaking about her family, alright. Samson felt it was best to take her mind off her brothers.

‘What about your grandfather? He seems like a kind gentleman.’ He urged her on.

‘When my father returned from the war, grandfather was already by the Maker’s side. He never lived to see the tyranny my father perpetrated. A horrid landlord, who beat the unruly and never listened to their complaints, unless it affected his income. He did build a legacy, alright. While me and my brother were humiliated by our brothers and their friends for disagreeing with him. Stepped on and on for the following years. All right under his nose. And he never did a damn thing about it.’ She concluded in a dark tone, looking every bit as sour as Samson in one of his worst days.

As for his part, he couldn’t deny he was curious to know just exactly what had happened in her past to turn her into such a taciturn woman. Would brothers mistreat their siblings so badly just for their parents’ favour? What did one say in such a situation?

‘Families...can be complicated.’ He mused, not really knowing what to say.

She cast him a side glance, seeming to appreciate him listening to her confession.

‘I was judged as weak by my brothers, threatened to be disowned by my family more times than I can count. It was a never ending nightmare. Only the presence of my brother made it bearable. After I lost him, life just stopped making sense. ’ she droned on ‘I just lived one day after the other, doing what was requested of me, following orders without question. Being ridiculed and slandered by my brothers. Threatened by my parents. Seen as a murderous tyrant by the very people I was supposed to protect. Whatever I wanted, it made no difference. I endured. I did not live. That was all.’

_The way she talks about herself, I could swear she was depressed._

‘Have you never spoken to someone about this?’ he asked with concern.

She merely shook her head ever so slowly, blinking lazily, as someone who was too tired even to argue.

There was another pause as she remained immersed in remembrances of her teen years, the darkest days of her existence. Meanwhile, Samson pondered about what he had heard, catching himself actually caring for her life story. She looked every bit as miserable as he did during the worst years of his life. How could this be? One minute earlier, she was the mighty Inquisitor, a fearsome rogue with a cunning mind. Now she was this shadow of a woman, wasting away right before his vey eyes as memories of the past kept haunted her waking hours.

He caught himself regretting the hostile treatment he had undeservedly given her. He had trouble voicing his regret, though. Samson never had a poor way with words. When he wanted, he could manipulate people into thinking he was the disgraced victim of a terrible injustice. _Except on my own fucking trial, when I needed it the most_ , he thought bitterly.

‘Inquisitor, I don’t know what to say. You should know all the things I spoke about you before, I take them back. I was wrong about you, I admit it.’  

She turned to face him and he saw a bit of the sadness give way to gratitude. But she still looked taciturn. _No, not taciturn. That was not the word that described it best. Defeated. Worn out._

_Just like me._

He cleared his throat, trying to dissolve the lump that had formed there.

‘The Chantry turned me into this...this degenerate. The lyrium wasted my mind. I may try as hard as I wish, but those years when I had to beg for scraps of food and dust will forever stay with me. They’re a part of me, now. I never asked for it. And I know I didn’t deserve it. So many like me didn’t deserve it.’ He reminisced.

‘You felt impotent to change the circumstances of your life. You limited yourself to survive. And that forced existence deprived you of your dignity as a man. It would be enough to drive you to revenge.’

It was frightening to realize how similar their life experiences were. She could perfectly understand the reasons behind what he did.

‘The way Cullen talks about you, he sees nothing more than a degenerate, as you put it. But he confessed to me he once thought you were a good man. You treated the mages with decency, a trait he later confessed to me he admired in you. Maybe even influenced him in some manner I’m not aware of.’

Another lump formed in his throat.

‘I wonder if he understands that many of our soldiers have a similar history to yours. Most were abandoned by the institutions they believed in. How many templars were expelled like you and ran to the Inquisition’s arms?’

The tone of the conversation veered to depressive. Whenever he opened his mouth to make fun of stuff, people usually told him to shut his trap. _Wouldn’t hurt to try, though._

‘All this soul searching...soon enough, we’ll backtrack so much I’ll begin to think of life in my mother’s womb. Do you make a habit of this?’

Her lips formed an amused smile and were stuck like this for quite a while. _So she enjoyed his witty remarks._ Another would’ve told him to shut up and stop uttering nonsense. No, she was nothing like Meredith. Far from it.

There. He felt the first pangs of rising affection grow. Not only in his chest, but in his trousers as well.

He did his best to pretend nothing happened and coughed a few times. Meanwhile, one side of his mind, the rational one, warred with his manly, stupid passionate ego.

_What the hell are you thinking, you mad dog? Samson, you fool, stop looking at her like that. She’s the bloody Inquisitor. Hold your friggin tongue before you blur some stupidity that will get you hanged._

She let out a long sigh.

‘I am sorry I condemned you like that in your trial.’ She blurted out ‘It was a time when I had to make a display of strength. After you spoke in your defence, I...’

‘I never offered a defence.’ He wittily remarked.

She snorted.

‘No, you did not. You...stood by your actions. Cullen would chastise me for saying this, but you acted with honour. You didn’t try to justify any of your crimes. Forgive me, but if anything, I had the feeling you were quite downhearted. Not because of the trial or your capture. But because of your men. Of their fate.’

Her tone was delicate and he merely stood there, gazing at her and the way she had guessed his intentions with such insight.

‘I heard you talking about your soldiers, Inquisitor. You worry about them in the same proportion.’

She nodded.

‘Leadership was offered to me, much like it happened to you. I worry daily whether I’m doing a good job or not. My advisors want me to succeed. They provide me with every help they can. But I feel like a fraud sometimes.’

The focus of their talk had shifted. She was beginning to let out her own frustrations this time.

‘I’m no leader of men. But I have to fit the role. I have to make the right decisions all the time. People look at me and see this perfect woman, this supernatural being sent by Andraste in person. I wake up, stare into the mirror and I don’t know who am I staring at. I don’t feel comfortable in my own skin.’

_Maker’s breath, she did sound like him. How many times hadn’t he told himself what she was openly admitting? He would recognize the signs of depression anywhere. Was the Inquisitor really that much depressed? The highest authority in the land?_

‘You’re the _Inquisitah_ and the Herald of Andraste.’ He commented in a playful tone ‘Perfect in every way.’ He added with a bit of wanting for her in his voice, feeling braver than usual ‘Can’t be holier than that.’

She turned to look at him with an expression of utter disbelief.

‘ _I’m_ perfect? Tell that to Cassandra. Or Vivienne, take your pick.’

‘Dissension among your ranks?’ he suggested.

She let out a frustrated sigh.

‘Cassandra knows I don’t harbor much love for the idea of worshipping the Maker. I may have been a devout Andrastian once, but...I don’t know. Worshipping a god I’ve never seen and attributing to him all the merit of the hard work that people around me did? It doesn’t sit well with me.’

Her blurted confession startled him. He certainly didn’t expect to hear such open disregard toward the Maker from _her_.

He let her blurt out more frustrations.

‘Am I supposed to attribute to him all the... bad things that happened to me as well? Was it righteous that so many wrongdoings happened to me? That people have to judge and step on each other as though it were as easy as bidding you a good day?’

The way she spoke, she sounded just like him during one of his moody periods. She was voicing her anger at the Maker, probably because she rose out of nowhere and now had to play the role of Andraste’s messenger during a time of crisis. To the eyes of the people, she had to be invulnerable. And such a role could easily become overwhelming, that much was clear.

But Samson knew better. He was familiar with that feeling. He knew where that was coming from. He had been there several times, especially during those long years in Kirkwall as a homeless beggar. He could tell the past bit at this woman’s ankle and kept her chained. She was a prisoner, like he were one day, of other people’s ill-intentions. And they might was well have burned out her desire to fight for what she wanted, to nourish her own dreams, to live as she meant to. But even now, at the head of that grand institution, she was still bound by invisible chains.

The world would never know she harbored a deep down secret frustration. Something that made her feel uncomfortable in her own skin, in her own words.

The difference is that Samson had already been through the worst that could happen to someone and had been ready to let it all go.  The moment he was defeated in Mythal’s Temple, he became aware it was all over for him. Which is why he never bothered to defend himself in the trial afterwards. Nobody would be willing to understand, anyway.

However, she was in the apex of such a situation right now. She still had a chance to turn things for the best. To rewrite her own history. Was the past blinding her so completely she failed to see it? He had led the red templars and failed. Would she fare better leading the Inquisition?

‘So resign. Let another take the throne. Why shoulder the weight of the world when its problems are not yours to begin with?’ he teased.

‘And let a corrupt politician take my place? Someone eager to profit from the Inquisition’s connections? Or someone who will use the Inquisition to wage an expansionist war?’

‘Why not? It’s not your problem anyway.’ He egged her on, adjusting his posture against the stone fence.

‘You forget I come from Ostwick.’

_Ah. The Fereldan province who was so Orlesian that the nobility shitted gold and breathed perfume._

He displayed the most malicious smile, bearing his irregular teeth at her.

‘So? You’d be used to corruption by now.’ His words dripped pure cynicism.

To his further surprise, the comment managed to make her face crack and she snorted. Her shoulders, so tense he could see the knots from where he stood, were now relaxed. Her eyes glinted and she snorted again, letting out a relieved sigh. She was less and less the almighty Inquisitor by the minute.

_Maybe that’s what she wanted by summoning him here. The both of them, talking all alone and having a heart to heart. Or wasn’t it?_

He was surprised at how easy it was to just talk to her. Their conversation went smoothly. They barely ended one subject and the next was already in line. Sure, Samson always made people feel comfortable around him, being the soft man he was. But this was different. He wasn’t just giving attention, he was also receiving. There was a real exchange going on. If anything, it was like talking to a kindred spirit.

As if to keep the conversation going, and since they were on the subject of her, he said:

‘You don’t seem like someone who doesn’t know your place. Rather, you fit the one-eyed throne well.’ He remembered his trial and how she ominously had declared his sentence.

‘Everyone tells me that. The guards always salute me, even when there’s no need. And the people keep a certain distance, as though I’d flail them if they didn’t. The truth is, they’re intimidated by me. But I don’t do it on purpose.’

‘From the way you brandished my sentenced, I’d say you do, Inquisitor.’ He chimed in.

‘Out of fear, not authority.’ She replied ‘What happens if the figure of the Inquisitor is seen as a weakling? Many will rise to take the throne. And then, you have a fresh new tyranny in your hands. An institution of faith with a grand army at its disposal is a danger to everyone.’

‘Sounds like you’re describing the Chantry, alright.’ He cleverly remarked.

She exchanged a knowing look with him and a silent understanding passed between them. It made the hair of Samson’s arm stand on end. He swiftly turned his gaze from her, afraid of revealing too much of the excitement she made him feel. His grasp at the stone behind him turned the knots of his fingers white. He licked his lips and swallowed nervously a few times. Samson was aware they were both alone, but still, he instinctively looked around to make sure no one could see or hear him.

_Maker’s balls, I’m falling apart here. She’s making me feel like a fresh recruit all over again._

He cleared his throat to get his wits together and beat his own awkwardness. When he turned to look at her again, she was watching the soldiers train many miles below. He felt more confident.

‘So how do you lead at all? How do you issue orders to your men, being so unsure most of the time?’ came the question, and Samson shifted his position, facing her with his chest wide open and his elbows resting on the hard stone fence.

Her smile faded a bit as she thought how to answer best.

‘I see the fear in other people’s eyes. They’re more afraid of what is to come than I am. They may have faith in the Inquisition, but those are times of uncertainty. Serve the almighty Inquisition, even having a colorful past, or join Corypheus’ ranks? After rumours spread of what Corypheus did with the people that were recruited, people began to regret their decision. And after they saw the fate of those who were captured by our allies, they felt they had nowhere to run. Some who had supported the templars out of doubt avoided the Inquisition altogether. Some old allies turned on us, afraid their mistakes might result in them being interrogated. Others simply ran away. They’re more afraid of punishment than of admitting they might’ve been in the wrong.’

‘Everybody behaves like that. Everyone’s afraid to be judged.’ He replied, not understanding where she wanted to get at.

 ‘The Qunari don’t have that problem.’ She stated, eyeing Iron Bull from afar as he trained with Krem ‘If you choose poorly, you can confess. There are no punishments for honesty. They reward it. You are relocated and will serve the system in some other meaningful form. But here, confessing what you did wrong in a moment of weakness is like signing a death warrant. Weakness is not tolerated in any form. Everyone has it, but no one admits. And no one forgives.’

‘Yeah. Except if you’re in power. Then, you can err as much as you want. And no one blames you.’

The minute he said it, he regretted the words leaving his mouth. The way it sounded, it was as if he was insulting her and her position. He cast a nervous glance at the Inquisitor, but to his befuddlement, she wasn’t bothered by it. If anything, she merely resumed her previous stance, staring at the training soldiers as calmly as before.

‘But you’ll forever know when you were in the wrong. The problem is not being able to talk about it. You must save face. Whatever the cost.’ Came the melancholic reply.

No angry retort? No aggressive reply? No ‘Go back to your cell, you disgusting junkie?’ Just more feelings of defeat poured into melancholic words.

It was as if Samson was seeing that woman in a whole new light. She wanted to confess the secret that weighted on her. Or were they many secrets? He noticed the makeup she wore hid deep shadows beneath her eyes. She was as tired as he was or more. But the reasons behind his tiredness couldn’t be the same as hers.

There was a long pause, and he could tell she still hadn’t asked him what she really wanted to. With furtive glances, he used the time to appreciate her thoughtful profile and the way the evening breeze caressed the few loose strands of hair that casually fell around her face.

‘You...in the Healing Wing, you said you didn’t believe in second chances.’

He didn’t reply right away, waiting for her to be more explicit. His heart also began to beat faster for whatever unfathomable reason.

‘It got me thinking. It’s been ten years since I’ve felt that emptiness. It’s a sensation that takes hold of me all of a sudden. And it is triggered by a mere look, an unkind word, a gesture of a stranger. That’s how I feel most of the time. As if I weren’t really here, living the routine of an Inquisitor.’

_As if someone else were watching your life through your very eyes._

‘I should have grown attached to the people who I work with. They are certainly attached to me. Dorian, Varric, Josie, Cullen, even Cassandra, who I admire a lot. But... I feel like there’s nothing here. I’ve lost count of how many smiles I’ve had to fake just to keep appearances. I’ve tried so hard to build bridges, but I can’t feel the connection. Not really.’

_With another human being._

‘Every time I speak to someone, I know it’s a matter of time before this feeling of detachment takes over. And then, I count the seconds until an invisible barrier descends between me and the other person. Something that prevents me from feeling. And I can’t shatter it. I’m so tired. You have no idea. I’ve tried so hard, but it’s so difficult to...’

 He had been silently listening to her desperate confession. He was as stiff as a board against the stone fence. Head bent down, eyes lost in thought; he fully understood why, of all people at her disposition in that huge fortress, she had chosen to call him.

The leader of the almighty Inquisition suffered from the same disease that corrupted his innards ever since that faithful day, when Samson lost his shield. And as a kindred spirit, she recognized the symptoms in him. From the moment she first laid eyes on him, she must’ve been sure of what was tormenting him. Not his defeat in battle, nor his betrayal of the templar order.

An all-consuming, poisonous depression. A feeling of impotence that stole your very sense of self and crushed your pride and dignity with an iron heel. Everyday felt like a lost battle; you got up in the morning, fulfilled your duties, tried to stay out of trouble and went to sleep aching for something or someone who would shake your world’s foundations and make you feel as though you belonged, as though you were alive. A shining light amidst a never ending nightmare that tasted of granite and sand.

Two sides of the same coin; one ruling from the top of the world, another rotting down in the bowels of a prison. The crown and the prisoner were intertwined by their secret pain.

An unbidden sly voice spoke in his head: _I could actually use this secret to my advantage..._

His lips twisted into a smile and he cleared his throat to offer her his best consolation when he heard her panting and sniffing. The noises startled him and he turned to look. She was doing her best to hold back the tears and keep her posture near the prisoner, but was visibly failing. He forgot the half-formed plan and felt genuinely concerned. For a moment, he was no longer Samson, the prisoner, but Samson, the templar, who watched over his charges with zeal and cared about his colleagues.

‘Oy, Inquisitor, come, now.’ He let a hand rest on her back, approaching his face from hers. He regretted not having shaved and combed his hair properly that morning. He hoped his breath didn’t smell that bad. ‘Come on, you’re just tired, is all.’

She snorted derisively at this.

‘Just tired. Sure.’ She said, bitterly. Her whole frame shook with suppressed sadness.

_Maker, she’s been holding this back for how long?_

He felt unsure as to what to do. Should he hold her? Should he even touch her at all? She needed some consolation. Feeling awkward as to where his hands were supposed to go, he made small attempts to comfort her. First, he rested his hands on her arms. She didn’t flinch, nor drew away. _Good._

 ‘Maybe you should return to your quarters. You know, drink a glass of milk, sleep a bit.’ He offered, feeling rather silly.

‘Milk?’ she raised her eyes and wiped the tears, patiently waiting for him to elaborate.

 ‘In times like this, nothing better than milk. During my days in the Gallows, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d often go down the stairs and fetch me some milk from the kitchens. It soothes the nerves.’ He explained, staring at her face with candor and wiping her tears with his thumbs.

‘Why did you have trouble sleeping?’

He hesitated and his expression went blank. He couldn’t tell her about Delilah. Not yet. She was the only thing left still untouched by the stream of bad luck which had derailed his entire life.

‘Someday, I’ll tell you. Why don’t we – I mean, you -’ he corrected himself, mistaking her eager look with reproach ‘talk to someone about this? I’m sure there must be someone special you met in the Inquisition in your life, now. Someone you can trust, right?’

But the way she lowered her eyes looking so forlorn told him the answer. He squeezed her arms once more and held back the urge to grab her at once and plant a full-blown kiss on her lips.

_Keep your wits about you, Samson, before you do something even stupider._ She was in need of a friend. A kindred spirit in her time of difficulty. Not a lover. _At least not for now_ , the malicious side of him added. _Shut up,_ he told the voice.

 ‘Of course. I’m sorry for putting that much weight on you.’ She replied, and the disheartened tone of her voice made him regret saying those words.

‘No, no, wait. Look.’ he held her back, thinking hard about how to sound convincing. Maker, this was a learned woman, not just some tavern wench who fell high over heels after hearing a lousy chat up line ‘I know what that feels like. Believe me, I’ve had plenty of time to dwell on my own misery.’ He commented with a small laugh and then added ‘Almost went crazy for it, but anyway. Whenever you feel the need to talk more about this crushing feeling, you can call me. I’ll listen for as long as you need me. I promise.’

He saw the hunger in her eyes and swallowed even harder. She winced and he realized the grip on her arms had tightened. They smiled at each other awkwardly.

‘For a man with a lean frame, you’re kinda strong.’

He cracked a half smile from the corner of his mouth. _She said lean. Not thin, starving or anorexic._

He lowered his eyes, hiding his less puritan thoughts. 

_Find me a bed, some privacy and I’ll show you just how strong I really am..._

‘Thank you.’ He humbly groaned back, inadvertently raising his eyes for a split second and revealing the wolfish look imprinted on them.

His first thought was that he would scare her away, but another silent understanding passed between them and he could _swear_ the way the corner of her eyes lifted as they narrowed in delight mirrored his in a very subtle way.

Time was suspended for a few moments as they just stared at each other, two kindred souls exhausted by the misunderstandings both had gone through, the callousness of a society where the admission of weakness condemned you to hatred and despise, where you were forced to hide your heart lest it suffered the deepest cut by razor tongues of those gifted with zero empathy. The world was quick to judge. Not so quick to understand and give you a second chance.

He didn’t know how long they just remained there in the battlements, enjoying their few precious seconds of mutual silence.

‘A true friend is one with whom no silence feels awkward. Have you ever heard it?’

She was quoting an old Ferelden poet, known for his insight into human nature. Not that there were many poets like him; the Ferelden literature was rather limited. Nations like Orlais, Antiva and Nevarra produced most of the literature in Thedas.

‘Friend?’ he echoed in disbelief ‘Yes. Of course. I believe that applies here. Mylady.’ He added, suddenly aware once again she was the Inquisitor and he, a mere prisoner. What the hell was he thinking? He was a frigging mess; his hairline was receding, his teeth were all crooked and some were even missing, his eyes were still a bit bloodshot and he was as pale as someone who had been locked away in a dungeon for a decade.

He lowered his head, brimming affection giving way to restlessness and the familiar feeling of being rejected.

‘I...’

He felt a pair of hands hold his and her insistent fingers delicately pulling his away. They met his palms and she brushed hers on his, resting her thumbs firmly on the back of his hands. For someone who had quite an austere expression, her palms were unbelievably warm.

This woman kept everything bottled inside. Hadn’t he witnessed how she had been under a terrible mental strain and no one could’ve guessed it just from looking at her serious expression? He couldn’t trust what he was seeing, but he sure could trust what he was feeling on his hands.

As she spoke again, her thumbs began rubbing his hands affectionately.

‘I...I didn’t bring you here solely to make you hear my problems. Actually, I stand by my previous statement. After Dagna has finished the final stages of your cure, I’ll conscript you to the Inquisition, Samson. If you accept it, of course.’

He felt as though he traveled back fifteen years in time and was a young recruit again, being handed his shield for the first time. That woman was handing him back something precious, something he had long forgotten.

But he didn’t feel he merited any of it.

‘Why?’ he knew it wasn’t wise to ask, but he did all the same.

‘Because you were a good soldier. Corypheus knew that. This was one of the reasons he recruited you. I’m sure of it. He also knew you were desperate, and you might think that was the only reason why he chose you, but so were the rest of the templars who survived the Kirkwall massacre. The thing is, you were willing to lead the men. You had sway with your colleagues. They listened to you. And you genuinely wished to take care of them, of the few you could save. This is a quality that Corypheus recognized. And now that we’ve gotten you away from his grasp...’

He could barely believe her logic. She ignored a fundamental truth. Well, not just one. **Several.**

‘You would be willing to give me a second chance? ME? I killed your men. I ordered their deaths. I forced the innocent to take that red poison. They would NEVER accept my leadership. Hell, I wouldn’t if I were one of them. To the world, I’m a traitor who deserves nothing more than a one-way trip to the gallows. Or the henchman’s axe.’ He said in earnest.

She hesitated for a bit before giving him an answer. She always pondered her words very carefully.

‘The woman who tended to you – Fiona, not Dagna - betrayed the King of Ferelden and invited a Tevinter magister and slaver to our homeland. Both her and said magister work for the Inquisition now.’

Samson opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it again. He didn’t know how to respond.

‘Should I slay the leader of the rebel mages? Someone who was once a respected member of the Circle? Did you know she rebelled because the mages got wind that the Rite of Tranquility could be reversed and yet, the Chantry never bothered to tell them?’

Samson could hardly believe his ears.

‘Maker’s breath...is that serious?’

So every Tranquil he ever had to watch over in the Gallows could – no should – have lived as a normal person? A forced existence as an empty shell was not required for the safety of the mage?

‘I’ve already given a speech addressing the decision-making process I follow in my trials. Many of his former allies are now working for us. An unusual strategy, but one that makes sense if you consider this: ever since Corypheus came to Thedas, he exploited the weaknesses of our crumbling institutions. He knew where to go and who to turn to his advantage. It was our lack of cohesion that allowed him to go this far.’

Her words rang with truth.

‘For months now, I’ve been drawing the line. What he’s done can be undone, but it’s a piecemeal work. We advance very slowly. Sometimes at great expense. No matter. Our struggle has yielded results. We got the mages back, we got rid of the red templars and we now know of a way to defeat him. Or so we hope.’ She added, sounding a bit uncertain.

‘So...I’m one of these people you are “recovering”? Someone who is now being rescued from the Dark Side?’

She confirmed his assertion.

‘I shall make an announcement turning your knighthood into something official. We still need to wait a few days for the effects of red lyrium to fully disappear from your system. In the meantime, I’ll request a room in Skyhold for you to stay once your treatment is over. From now on, whatever you wish, you can requisition from us.’

He arched an eyebrow, glancing at her with a suspicious look.

‘Can I have some beer? And some fish and egg pie, too, since we’re at it?’

There. It was enough to make her laugh.

‘The guard did tell me you had yelled at her for not providing decent food. ’ she recalled.

‘I can’t believe the sort of food you provide to your prisoners...’ he began to complain and grumble, since she liked when he did it so much ‘I bet the soldiers don’t have to eat that shit.’

‘It’s the same meal for everyone.’ She admitted.

‘What? The soldiers have to eat that as well? You’re kidding.’ his perplexed tone made her laugh even more ‘No wonder people are running away left, right and centre. If this is how you run the Inquisition, then all Corypheus has to do is hire a cook from Starkhaven to get your soldiers to work for him. Done. He won the frigging war.’

She laughed a bit more, a constrained laugh that he came to realize resulted from inner tension.

‘Thank you, Inquisitor. For...well, everything you’ve done for me.’ Was his earnest confession, spoken in his usual soft tone.

She squeezed his hands gently and prepared to leave when she made a split-second decision. She surprised him by planting a quick kiss on his face before departing.

Samson didn’t turn around to answer her farewell wish. He was rooted to the spot, still thunderstruck. His hand caressed the spot where she had kissed him. So he hadn’t been imagining it. She did call him up there for something other than just that official announcement and plain talking. And all of a sudden, she simply left after that unexpected kiss.

No, his mind was not playing games with him. That was it. She left him **wanting**. This was not a provocation, this was a game. She was _teasing_ him.

He growled under his breath, feeling the blood surge through his veins and travel from his violently beating heart to the primitive pulses raging inside his pants. It had been years ever since he played it. More than ten years, to be exact, when he still knew what it felt like to be a man. But back then, he was a templar of renown. Fresh out of his apprentice hood, he attracted the eager stares of young women as he walked the streets of Kirkwall on some errand for the Knight-Captain or merely to enjoy the rest hours after lunch.

Templars always had prestige in the city. And now, it was his time to reap the benefits of such position. Or so he thought before he had been kicked out of the Order only one year after Meredith took charge.

‘That bitch...’ he murmured under his breath. He saw where his mind was going and tried to refrain his negative thoughts. _No, that belongs in the past. I have a future ahead of me, now._ He cast a hopeful gaze at the door through which the Inquisitor had just disappeared.

He had been given a second chance. All the tragedy that haunted him might just remain behind if he worked hard to build something for himself.

_Stop reminiscing, focus on the present. You work for the Inquisition, now. There are plenty of people here who are just like you, looking for a new beginning. Shut the door to the past, keep all the negativity locked away. Don’t drag it where it doesn’t belong. Stay positive. Give a chance for life to open more ways._

All he had to do was not to squander this opportunity. How hard could it be?


	4. The Smugglers' Operation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samson gets closer to the Inquisitor and earns his chance to prove his valor to the Inquisition.
> 
> [Warning] The chapter contains:  
> Explicit Material (NSFW)  
> Abuse

 

**_“Maybe I can earn my shield back, after all”_ **

 

She held his hands, caressing their back with her thumbs ever so fondly, her fingers combing the sparse manly hair that grew there with secret delight. Her eyes searched his and lit up with a warm glint when they met. Her lips parted in a smile and it was as if he were under a spell. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach and upon him descended a feeling of great warmth, soothing every one of his nerves.

With a groan, he realized he was incapable of holding back anymore. An invisible force pulled him toward her and he sought her lips, embracing her. The moment he felt their mouths connect, a sudden and powerful sensation enraptured him and swept his body head to toes, like an electric charge.

His hands held her head, so desperate he was for that woman and his fingers tangled in her hair. And when she returned the kiss, another powerful surge swept him thoroughly. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He inclined his head even more and deepened the kiss, dropping his hands to her waistline. He encircled her with his arms, firmly holding her back. She mimicked the gesture, keeping him tight against her and he groaned in delight. Her body was as warm as his.

Even if he had to, in spite of himself, he wouldn’t be able to stop. The guards could walk on them embracing each other like this and they still wouldn’t stop. All reason be damned, they needed this. The closeness, the utter surrender to that feeling, to that overwhelming sensation. If anyone tried to part them, they would only rush into each other’s arms again, deaf and blind to anything besides the other one’s presence.

He felt himself slipping away from her against his will and his forehead hit something hard. The image of the two of them sharing that blissful moment in the battlements vanished from his mind and was replaced by the familiar numbness of waking up.

‘Oh, Maker, just when I was in the best part...’ he growled in frustration and cursed under his breath, realizing this was all just a dream.

Samson was sprawled on the hard, cold floor of his new room. Well, not so cold. There were carpets beneath him. And they felt so fluffy as well. He rubbed his back against them producing a delighted noise from his throat, like a cat when his belly was being rubbed. He wondered whether the Inquisitor had specially provided those for him. Skyhold did seem like a rather austere castle; for such a **lady** Inquisitor, that was.

He had been moved from his prison as per the Inquisitor’s orders. It had already been one week, now. Dagna’s treatment was finally over and he was allowed to move from the Healing Wing. They had moved some of his belongings from Therinfal Redoubt to his new place. The room wasn’t what you would call _palatial_ , but it was four times the size of the living quarters Samson were used to have back in his days in the Gallows. And then, he had to share a room with Cullen. Here, he had this entire space all for himself.

 _I’m not imagining it. She wants something from me. Why else give me such a comfortable place to stay knowing I don’t deserve it? Once this affair with Corypheus is done, she’ll probably tell me what does she have in mind._ Until then, he’d have to be patient. **Very** patient.

His body was tangled in a messy bundle of blankets that held his collapsing body as it slid from his rather large bed. Another restless night filled with tormented nightmares – except for that glorious last bit of dream -, when he agitated his limbs too much during his sleep.

His wild mane of black hair was an utter mess, with his dark locks spread all over his head. His beard hadn’t been shaven in days. Even though he was far from looking like Blackwall, his appearance was not too far from being considered unhygienic. He felt less tired that morning than usual, a fact he attributed to his anti lyrium treatment. The Healers had managed to free him of his compulsion. He just didn’t know if he would still suffer from withdrawal pains.

The t-shirt of his pyjama had retreated and revealed a large portion of his slim, milky-white abdomen. Samson had very little body hair there; not so little on his chest. A thin hairy line descended from his roundish bellybutton all the way to the abundant black mess below, only partially covered by his silk trousers. Their front part hang in the air as his lower member shot upwards, still hot and rigid after that vivid dream. His balls ached all over. If only he had had a few more minutes...he craved for the continuation of that blissful fantasy and the satisfaction it would provide him, allowing his much-needed release.

 _Guess I’ll have to cope with that problem by myself._ Came the grim thought as he parted one of his long fingers covering his face to stare down at his hard erection. The veins of his member were visible as they pulsated intensely and his shape was sprung firm like an iron bar. Maker, he hadn’t been inside a woman for how long, now? Five years? Not ever since he barely escaped Kirkwall.

He thought about her and the ache in his balls returned. He actually felt his member react at the mere memory of she and him alone in the battlements, the softness of her warm palm against his cold, calloused one. In the intimacy of his room, he couldn’t suppress the desire to feel her thorough caresses on his body, touching every bit of him, ever going down until they reach the center of heat that burned in the hardened part of him.

 _Andraste, what a way to wake up_. _I hope they have filled my bathtub with cold water._ If not, at least he would have the privacy of a bathroom to spend several minutes pleasuring himself until he couldn’t have any more.

One of his rather large feet felt cold as it remained uncovered during the night. He shifted one of the blankets with clumsy gestures, tucking it inside the warm cocoon. He placed a large, slender hand on his forehead feeling the bump. His long fingers circled the injury until it hurt and he elicited a yell. _Damn. I don’t want her to see this._

With a reluctant gesture, he yanked the blankets away and got up, shivering as his feet touched the cold stone floor. He searched everywhere for his slippers, even looking under the bed, but they were nowhere to be found. Andraste’s tits, had these incompetent bastards forgotten to bring them from Therinfal Redoubt? What else would be missing? He would have to talk to someone about this. With secret satisfaction, he became aware this was the excuse he had been looking for to go see the Inquisitor. She **_did_** say he could requisition whatever he wanted by directly speaking to her, after all...

He felt sharp tingles of cold as he walked to the bathroom. He stared at his reflection with an intense gaze, noticing the few lines on his face. There were tiny wrinkles on the corners of his eyes and his eyelids felt heavier than usual. The shadows beneath his eyes had receded a little; no doubt due to the relaxing night he just had. But now there were a pair of lines on his forehead that hadn’t been there before. Samson wasn’t getting any younger, and he knew it.

As usual, the top of his head lacked almost all hair. His black mane, however, was still far from sporting any gray strands, something he was very proud of. As he bore his eyes on his blurry reflection, he became aware he must’ve looked like shit the whole week. Lucky for him, he had barely been out of his room. Most of the time, he just took a stroll in the battlements and watched the everyday life of the people of the Inquisition. As his mind drifted, his features were shadowed by doubt. He wondered whether the Inquisitor had kissed him out of pity. She did call him friend, after all and not...something more intimate.

 _Would she? This would not be the first time a woman got cozy with me because she felt sorry._ He grimly thought. _Bah, there’s no point in wondering. Although...it would be nice if...no, she wouldn’t. Of course not! Stop daydreaming, Samson. She wants the goods? Just give her the goods. Save yourself heartbreak, yeah?_

With another glance at his reflection, he silently began his morning ritual of hygiene. The first thing he did was to thoroughly wash his face and then pass copious amounts of an herbal lotion on his chin and sideburns. He then grabbed a razor, sharpened it against a string of leather and began the slow process of shaving that scrawny beard. 

This time, he would make sure he looked nice and proper for her.

 

**The Inquisitor’s office...**

 

She held the lengthy letter at barely a palm from her nose, devouring its content. The writing was elegant as expected from an instructed person, but had signs of it having been scribbled in less than adequate conditions. More than once she had to read a sentence again to make out the words. 

  The envelope on her desk bore the Grey Warden seal and the sender was none other than Loghain Mac Tir. It had been two months ever since she aided the Wardens in Adamant Fortress. The members of the Order were allowed to stay in Ferelden, so long as the mages were conscripted to the Inquisition. Their fate would then be decided by the institution. It was the only way to make sure they would not dabble in blood magic again.

Ever since his return to Weisshaupt, Loghain had been exchanging correspondence with her concerning a subject that had been worrying the Wardens as of late: the widespread of red lyrium. According to him, the substance now infected the Deep Roads, making it near impossible for Wardens to travel underground anymore. If the darkspawn who had gone mad and turned into red monsters didn’t slaughter them, the red lyrium itself sang into the Wardens’ minds as loudly as the Calling and turned brothers and sisters of the Order against each other:

 

**It’s been four days since we left one of the infested Thaigs and arrived back in Orzammar. Luckily, the dwarves were patrolling these tunnels, looking for a couple of lost miners and found us instead. I had the unenviable task of informing them of their demise at the hands of the darkspawn after a poorly executed escape. We ourselves barely survived, having lost most of our men on the way. As if those accursed creatures didn’t need anything new to make them become even more vicious.**

 

The voice of Loghain sprang to mind, with his typical Fereldan countryman accent. As she silently read the paragraph as if he were there in person, a smile crept in her features.

 

**The reason why I’m writing to you, though, is because we have contacted the Hero of Ferelden. Now I must ask you to not spread this around. She is trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Ferelden now is undergoing a new crisis with Corypheus on the loose and she can’t be called to aid in the fight against him. Her duties lie in helping us find a permanent cure for the taint as soon as possible. And according to what she revealed to me of what she had learned in her travels, we are close to finding an answer.**

 

She put down the letter for a moment. So the Hero of legend had returned? Could it be because of Corypheus? And why not? One of the seven Magisters of old, reborn from ashes, returns and punches a hole in the sky. Definitely worthy of her attention.

At this point, she must have been aware by now of his connection to red lyrium. Loghain did tell the Inquisitor when they met about her ongoing search for a cure to the taint. The fast spread of the red substance must’ve forced her to halt her investigation.

But more importantly, would the Hero want to greet the Inquisitor? She thought so. After all, it had rested in her hands alone the fate of the entire Grey Warden Order in Ferelden. 

She went on reading:

 

**The discovery was not made by her, though. As soon as she crossed the Orlesian border, she came across the creature known as The Architect. You might remember the description I once gave you? An intelligent darkspawn, who was caught experimenting with the blood of wardens already dead to render his brethren immune to the Calling. Apparently, he’s been refining his methods ever since. The result is that the concoction he created also renders anyone immune to the red lyrium song. However, it doesn’t reverse the transformation one undergoes until they become a monster.**

 

‘It’s that creature that saved a dwarven miner.’ She murmured under her breath, remembering the strange report she read of a different kind of darkspawn sighted in the Deep Roads. Odd. Why go to the trouble of rescuing someone that might kill him on sight? And how can a darkspawn be aware of things such as the Calling or taint?

 

**I’m still waiting to hear if you had any success using Fiona’s blood to cure the red lyrium infection. I would expect to hear word from the witch since you’re trying to recreate her ritual. Without the...physical entanglement, that is. As a solution, let’s face it: it’s not very pragmatic, is it? For there to be enough blood for everyone, how many formerly tainted women would need to make a donation? And how many are there in the world? And you are already aware of my impressions regarding using magic and blood together. Not the best of combinations. However, if your solution proves to be a promising one, it may well be the only solution we’ll have to look forward to in the years to come.**

**Yours sincerely,**

**Loghain Mac Tir**

 

 

She held a feather, immersing the tip in the inkpot and began to write her response. She wondered what would Loghain’s reaction be when he heard that uterus blood not only worked as an antidote, but also fully reversed the red lyrium’s effects.

As she was midway through her composition, there was a knock on the door and two familiar faces appeared on the stairs.

‘Cullen. Leliana. Come in.’ The look on their faces was utterly serious. ‘Is something wrong?’

They exchanged a brief anxious look before addressing her.

‘We have found smugglers are shipping red lyrium abroad.’

As they predicted, she reacted to the news with astonishment.

‘How much are they shipping?’

‘Enough to become a threat soon if we don’t act.’

 

...

 

Samson was getting tired of that place. The corridors stretched endlessly and lead to more rooms filled with dozens of doors, leading upwards, downwards and sometimes leading nowhere at all; merely cabinets stood on the other side. That fortress was a labyrinth. He searched everywhere for her office, but there was no indication of where it was located.

_Damn it, why the hell don’t they hang plaques on the doors? I could swear that corridor led to a flight of steps to the second floor! How is someone supposed to find a bathroom when they find themselves lost with a full bladder?_

‘Andraste’s tits.’ He cursed under his breath, looking around the Great Hall. People were beginning to stare at him. He heard one of them whisper “the templar traitor” behind him. _Great._

‘That’s what I cursed the first time I got here, too. Didn’t even know there was a bathroom right next to my room. Had to walk all the way from here to the stables and back again until I found a decent place to pee.’

He scrutinized the room looking for the voice that was addressing him, but no one stared back at him (except the few people who scowled back at him). The voice coughed a few times and spoke again.

‘Ahem. Down here.’ Came the suggestion.

Samson cast his eyes downwards and saw himself staring at no other than a beardless dwarf. He had seen that rogue accompanying the Inquisitor in the Temple of Mythal. And unless his memory was faulty, he remembered seeing that face around Kirkwall. Usually when he wandered the streets near the Hanged Man at night.

He recoiled a bit when his gaze fell on the crossbow. The pain of being shot by that weapon was still recent. He still couldn’t touch where one of its thick arrows had pierced his armour. Three black marks left on his pale skin had now become his personal recollection of that brutish fight.

‘I’ve seen you before. I just didn’t know your name. You’re the rogue dwarf; the one Hawke used to drag with him wherever he went. Or was it the other way around? I’m surprised you would come and talk to me.’ he said meekly.

At the mention of the dead friend, a fleeting nostalgia passed through Varric’s eyes, but he quickly recomposed himself.

‘Oh, you shouldn’t be too surprised. After his trial, I couldn’t look Blackwall in the eye. Since then, we’ve killed a dragon together, played Wicked Grace and shared a few jokes about Chuckles.’

Samson was taken aback.

‘Can’t say I know anyone who goes by that name. Or nickname.’

‘Bald elf, stuck up, grim-looking, thin as a bamboo stick?’ Varric said, tentatively.

‘Ah.’ he made, remembering who the guy was ‘Impossible to miss.’

Varric decided to go straight into the subject.

‘Not that I’m prying, but the Inquisitor obviously saw something in you.’

‘Don’t ask me. I wish I knew what it was. I certainly made no attempt to be charming.’

The dwarf laughed at this.

‘I know. She told me of your colourful choice of words.’

Samson raised his eyebrows at this and tried to disguise his apprehension.

‘She told you of what we talked in the battlements?’

Varric reluctantly admitted she didn’t. ‘But she does intend to conscript you. That much she shared.’

‘She’s... an unusual woman.’ He murmured.

‘She does look like the impressionable sort, doesn’t she? Well, I’ll tell you this: after travelling all over the place and witnessing how she handles most problems, I’d say she is far from being a pretty and harmless woman.’

‘What d’you mean?’ he asked, worried.

Varric narrated the events after the battle in Adamant Fortress and how she made an example of Erimond. A  public one.

‘She’s not shy when having to swing an axe in front of a crowd. You might better watch your step. She gets wind you’ve stepped out of line, you’ll see the other side of her.’ He warned.

‘It’s hard to picture her being the same woman who forgave that Alexius fella.’

‘Oh, trust me; she did have a grim fate in store for him. He was about to be shipped to Orlais and be made Tranquil. Not too long after, we hear she changed her mind in a fortnight and ordered for him to be sent back. Dorian’s doing, of course.’ He smirked.

‘He’s the moustached mage who accompanies her?’ he asked, uncertain.

‘That’s the man.’

‘Funny. He seems like a decent sort for a tevinter, although a bit extravagant.’

 ‘I wouldn’t become too friendly unless you fancy moustached guys hanging in your bedroom.’ He alerted with a smirk. Samson gave a short laugh.

 ‘Yeah, I’ve heard those tevinters are prone to all sorts of depravity. Not that I don’t fancy a bit of depravity myself, but...I always preferred it with a woman.’ He said, slyly. ‘Why the hell would she conscript a mage from Tevinter?’

‘Trust me; everyone’s asked that question.’ He sighted.

‘And you agree with the decision she took?’ he insisted.

The dwarf gave him back a thoughtful look, fondling his scarce chin hair.

‘I’ve found her to be a pretty good judge of character. The people she recruited have been quite useful. She knows how to keep them happily busy; I’d say Alexius is content with his researches, having all the time, partners and coworkers in the world. So long as he respects some boundaries, he has relative freedom here. Inquisitor Trevelyan has inspired loyalty, I’ll give her that. And none of her former enemies have turned against us. So far.’

‘And do you trust everyone she recruits?’

His eyes twinkled in his skeptical face.

‘I prefer to reserve judgement on the people she befriends. And conscripts.’ He added, evasive as usual.

‘Wise, dwarf.’

‘Oh, I almost forgot: Varric Tethras.’ He extended a hand. ‘Businessman, entrepreneur, storyteller and rogue adventurer.’

Samson gladly took it and said:

‘John Samson Stratford, former knight-templar, former general to Corypheus’ army and former lyrium junkie. No longer addicted to the dust, I’m proud to say. But now only a penniless, jobless bastard.’ He added in a soft voice.

Varric smirked at his dark sense of humour.

‘Quite the title!’

‘I’ve had worse associated to my name. Usually thrown at me by bar keepers and slow-witted husbands.’ His earnest reply made Varric’s laugh echo in the hall.

‘Well, I’ll say. We’ll still get to know more about you in the months to come, but I’m glad she finally recruited someone with a sense of humour.’

‘Nothing like a punch line to kill enemies. They never see it coming.’ 

‘And then they always let their guard down for the final shot.’ He added.

Samson seemed much more relaxed.

‘So, will you now tell me what you were looking for?’

But Samson seemed hesitant. He couldn’t reveal he wanted to see the Inquisitor. He needed an excuse.

‘Well... the Inquisitor ordered me to tell her names of anyone Corypheus might be manipulating. She said I was supposed to give the information as soon as I remembered it.’

The dwarf didn’t need to hear another word.

‘First door in the end of the hall to your left.’

‘Thanks, Varric.’ He replied with a relieved grin.

‘Not at all, er...’

Samson waited for him to complete his sentence. Varric gave the impression of wanting to say something more.

‘Yes?’ he politely asked.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but Dagna took the habit of calling you a sourpuss, didn’t she?’

Samson scowled at this.

‘That’s right.’ He grumbled in annoyance, crossing his arms.

‘Huh. We’ll have to work on that.’ The dwarf replied.

 

**The Inquisitor’s office...**

 

‘The red lyrium smugglers are becoming more careless. We’ve intercepted them on the road to Amaranthine. Our soldiers had to pretend they were mercenaries so as not to provoke an attack.’

Trevelyan was listening to two of her advisors at the moment. Cullen paced back and forth in front of her desk, disquieted by the increasing number of smugglers sighted in northern Ferelden. It was his and Leliana’s belief there was a secret smuggling operation going on right beneath the noses of both King Alistair and Emperor Gaspard. But who were those responsible for this shady operation, they hadn’t the faintest idea.

‘Have we contacted Orzammar yet? What does King Harrowmont think of this?’

‘We did, Inquisitor, two weeks ago. We’re still waiting his reply.’ The Commander said.

‘This doesn’t bode well...’ she murmured.

Leliana and Cullen exchanged a concerned look. ‘What d’you mean?’

She drew Loghain’s letter from beneath the mess of papers on her desk and read aloud the paragraph where the Warden described their narrow escape from the red darkspawn.

‘The Deep Roads are infested with red lyrium. The corruption is spreading in the underground mineral like crazy.’

‘What about the dwarven miners?’ asked the Spymaster.

‘If they happened on the red stone, then they are lost. They’ll turn on the other miners, they’ll turn on the Wardens, anyone. And Harrowmont has got his hands full dealing with this.’ She grimly concluded.

‘I don’t understand. How can these minerals be extracted in large quantities and not affect the smugglers?’ asked Cullen.

‘An indication that they have a more sophisticated logistics than a common band of criminals seeking easy profit.’ Leliana pointed out.

‘And that sophistication points to there being nobility support behind this.’ Trevelyan added.

There was a pause when they all seemed to be thinking along similar lines.

‘We must get Josie to send a few letters.’ Leliana suggested.

‘What? You think these nobles will just confess they’re behind this?’

‘No, Commander. But we need all eyes and ears open right now. Anything that can give us a lead to who the real culprits are.’

‘What about Briala? Strange we haven’t heard word from her about all this.’ He insisted. ‘As a matter of fact, she’s gone eerily silent. We haven’t heard from her for quite some time.’

Trevelyan suggested she might be busy with the affair of elves moving from alienages. News from Orlais indicated they were moving to the countryside, where they were establishing villages close to the main cities.

‘They are still marginalised, but at least they have their own space, now.’ The spymaster remarked.

There was a knock on the door and one of her messengers came in. He brought a new report and said it withheld confidential information. Leliana’s eyes traveled quickly through the parchment and she excused herself, saying the matter required her immediate attention.

Cullen remained alone in the office with the Inquisitor, who was still holding Loghain’s letter in her hand.

‘She doesn’t know you’re in the Inquisition.’ She suddenly stated.

The Commander and she had had a previous conversation concerning the Hero of Ferelden many months ago. He rubbed his neck, feeling uncomfortable.

‘I don’t know if I should try contacting her. It’s...been too long.’

‘She did write you a lengthy letter.’ Trevelyan smiled, remembering the ten-page heartfelt handwritten document.

‘She might be with someone now. She said it herself; it’s been ten years. It happened so long ago; in another life. I was another person.’ He protested.

‘There’s no harm in wanting to see her again. As friends.’ She suggested, but he scowled.

‘Why not, Cullen? Is this about not being sure about talking to Solona Amell again? Or you not wanting to feel awkward in front of her?’ she demanded.

The Commander looked annoyed and started fidgeting. He had to be pushed, or he wouldn’t budge.

‘She knew you back then. She wouldn’t mind.’

‘No?’ he angrily retorted.

‘No.’ She emphatically insisted. ‘Wasn’t that what drew her to you in the first place? The cute, awkward templar, who wondered about first love, what it must be like? Just like she did? She’d never forget you; you were her first one.’

Cullen cleaned his throat, fidgeting even more. She smirked back, seeing her words were having an effect on him. The Commander needed to be slowly pushed for his own good. One more push toward the right direction.

There were three knocks on the door and they wrapped up their conversation.

 

**Few minutes earlier...**

 

Samson navigated the corridors of Skyhold maintaining a nonchalant posture, even amidst the sea of fearful and filthy stares people threw at him. He heard whispers behind his back, some commenting on the atrocities attributed to him –most of them largely exaggerated -, others slandering his treason to the Templar Order. But he ignored them all. Hadn’t he endured people look down on him for ten years? At least now he was feared. He was used to being cast in a negative light by now and merely considered this as an improvement.

He reached the empty section where her office was and felt his nervousness increase. His Adam’s apple was pulsing, his own ragged breath rang in his ears and he heard the noise in his throat every time he swallowed hard. His self-awareness was much stronger and he caught himself flattening his shirt and combing his hair with his fingers. He was reminded anyone could come in at any moment and ask what he was doing. He took slow steps, wetting his lips nervously.

_Well, you’re here, now. No use standing in the corridor like an idiot. Might as well ask her how are her plans for Corypheus. Why not?_

He knocked three times and approached his head to the door. There were muffled voices coming from there. She was not alone.

 _Oh fuck._ He didn’t want to be seen going to speak with her. People might talk.

He was torn between walking back to the Great Hall as fast as he could without looking suspicious and standing there until she opened the door. He didn’t have to ponder for too long, though.

He heard the doorknob turn and Commander Cullen appeared on the other side. He was thanking the Inquisitor for “informing him of her appearance” and turned to the corridor. For a whole awkward moment, he was startled to see Samson standing there.

Both men stared mutedly at each other, unsure of how to address their former acquaintance. But Cullen’s spite for that traitor was still visible.

‘Samson. I hoped to talk to you. Come in.’ Urged the Inquisitor.

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Came the hoarse reply, and the dark haired passed by the blond without giving him a second look. Cullen’s eyes followed him all the way up the stairs as he went. A worried look passed through his expression. He was convinced the former templar would be trouble.

 

...

 

She led him to her lair and Samson’s head turned everywhere, taking in the overall aspect of her office. She kept little furniture, arranged in an unobtrusive fashion. Tables, sofas and small cabinets were usually kept in corners and adjacent to the walls. The chairs were large and padded. She valued comfort and pragmatism above all else, two common traits in Fereldans. But not in women in general.

‘Where are the colourful wallpapers?’

‘I have them in my Summer estate in Amaranthine.’ She smiled.

The only thing that seemed out of place was her desk. It was overcrowded with papers and books of all sorts, stashed on the sides and front, with a wild mess lurking behind them. He noticed the rather large pile of envelopes and open letters. Looking for a subject to pick up, he pointed at them and asked if her mornings were always that busy.

‘Looks like all of Thedas wants to have business with the mighty Inquisitor.’

‘A result from our meddling in Orlesian affairs. Now that the Inquisition was acknowledged by the empire, my office is being flooded with several of these everyday.’ She sighed, staring at the hopeless mess.

‘It’s the price of fame.’ He arched an eyebrow, wearing a cynical expression. She snorted again, rummaging through the papers to arrange them in neat piles.

Her eyes fell on one of the letter atop of the pile and she became lost in thought. For a moment, she forgot about the man in the room with her. He saw the transformation her face underwent. From a jovial expression to one of sheer tension and suppressed fear. Whatever was in that letter was the source of her fatigue these past few days.

He hesitated, not sure if he should intrude her privacy. Samson was aware of what lines were usually not meant to be crossed. However, the way she responded to his tentative approach signalled she felt comfortable enough to invite such informality. He was aware of how he unintentionally made people feel at ease around him. Samson always made friends, no matter where he went. It also made him earn little respect if compared to your average person. Most people just took him for a nice guy. For his part, he assumed he must have one of those trustworthy faces.

_No, that can’t be it. Maker, I look like a fucking degenerate. Must be the voice. Women always complimented me on my hoarseness and wanted me to whisper to their ear. Yeah, that’s probably what she saw in me, too._

‘What is it, milady? You seem worried.’ He took four steps toward her. She didn’t try to distance herself. He felt the knot in his chest diminish and his nervousness slowly give way to confidence.

He had the impression she had gone speechless. She threw him the most worrisome glance he had ever seen and he actually saw her eyes widening in fear. A vague memory of having seen that look itched on the back of his mind, but he couldn’t place his finger on it.

‘I received a letter from Ostwick. My brothers. They are aware of my influence as the Inquisitor by now. They summon my presence. To discuss...family matters.’

He was shocked to hear the sudden change in her tone. Her voice was hard and dry, her speech was fragmented and she breathed more heavily. Her stare also turned downwards.

He recalled their conversation in the battlements. That was the second time he saw her tense up when talking about her family. On that occasion, she hadn’t told him exactly what did her brothers do to her. But her discomfort was so visible his mind tended to jump to the worst conclusions.

‘Are you planning to meet them, milady?’

She returned the same fearful look of before, shaking her head vehemently.

‘Why don’t you go visit your mother, at least?’ he asked delicately, taking more tentative steps toward her.

Her eyes became moist and shone with hidden pain. There was cold sweat on her skin. She looked even paler than usual. Samson would recognize those signs anywhere. She was under mental strain. The same strain that committed him whenever he was forced to relay his hardest days as a guttersnipe.

His breath became intensified and his heart thumped on his chest. This was it. The bad memories that tormented her had been triggered by the letter. The secret she had refrained from revealing was now causing her pain. This was his chance to approach her, to let her know he cared.

She placed the letter on the desk again, gazing at it with a side glance, as though afraid her eyes would fall on its content by accident.

‘I can’t go back.’ She managed to say in a muffled tone, looking unhappy.

 _Do something._ His mind commanded.

He watched her closely as he approached her, walking as one entranced. The echo of his footsteps was the only sound in the room. Lost in thought, she didn’t seem to mind the fast diminishing distance between them. He came to a halt only inches from her, letting go a long held breath that shook the loose strands of her hair. His breath had caught her attention and made her look up.

He searched her eyes with a questioning expression, but she just dropped her gaze, keeping everything bottled up. Like he had done to one of the few special women in his life, he slithered one long index along the outline of her face in a soft caress and delicately placed it under her chin. Applying as little pressure as possible, he finally convinced her to meet his gaze.

‘What is it?’ he insisted in the same kind tone, his whispered breath blowing softly on her face.

His willingness to help her seemed to make some of that fear ebb away and she took a deep breath, asking him to join her in the balcony.

 

...

 

She narrated the events prior to the Conclave that drove her to seek the Divine. After her brother’s death, her family tried to blame the Chantry for having forced Gerald out of the Order. Her parents’ claim was that such an act would have driven him to desperate measures. He wouldn’t have accepted to travel to such a faraway nation as Rivain if the Knight-Commander in Denerim had been more reasonable in his judgement concerning their son’s actions.

‘They invoked several legal precedents and tried to blame the Chantry for having allowed such an arbitrary decision to be made by one of their own. Mind you, the Trevelyans have historically helped Denerim and Amaranthine in times of difficulty. Our grains fed many soldiers during the feudal wars. Our soldiers protected the villages and the cities. And more so during the Blight.’ She remarked.

But the Chantry refused to acknowledge their responsibility. Julius Trevelyan, her father, took the news as an offence to his household. But as his daughter, she knew the Chantry had its hands busy after the terrorist attack in Kirkwall.

‘He blamed the Chantry for expelling your brother? What did that have to do with his untimely death later on?’ Samson questioned.

‘Nothing. My father was gambling with luck. He tried to take advantage of Gerald’s death to force the Chantry to earn us a favor. We were always generous sponsors for the Templar Order ever since Gerald joined. My father threatened to end all contributions should the matter go unresolved. The truth is, he was drowning in debt for some time. The costs of war were barely covered by the tributes arriving from the new lands he conquered. And the costs of maintenance of said lands were equally draining the family’s finances. All in all, this was the perfect excuse to stop spending more money. Ever the opportunist, my father appealed to drastic measures.’ She explained.

Twice they tried to send delegates to reason with the Divine. Justinia was so busy after the crisis in the White Spire, all her brothers’ request for an audience had been denied. Fed up with such treatment, George and Patrick suggested their younger sister was sent next. So one morning, barely aware her family had been conspiring behind her back, she made her long journey to Haven, ready to negotiate in the name of the Trevelyans.

‘You were ordered by your father to defile the memory of your beloved brother. That’s a hard thing to do.’ He mused.

‘Threatened. I was threatened to do so. He promised I would be disowned and lose the right to my share in the family’s heirloom if I refused to go.’ She corrected him.

The way she spoke of her father bothered him.

‘Does he make a habit of threatening you to get what he wants?’

Her eyes lit up in response, displaying that kindled fire whenever he correctly guessed something about her. Samson had learned her eyes often told things the mouth couldn’t express, muted by a deep settled fear, nested in her very core.

‘Sometimes he resorts to public humiliation. His preferred way of forcing me into obedience was to treat me in a condescending manner in front of the peasants while reserving a more noble, adequate treatment toward my brothers. He made sure the whole Bannorn in the North came to know me as “the disobedient daughter”, the one who never did anything right, and for that, was always being shouted at and punished.’

Samson was reminded of the days when people spat on him as they passed him by in the streets of Kirkwall. Or when store owners didn’t kick him out in broad daylight, attracting a crowd. Even worse were the hooligans who chased him and other beggars at night, making them run for their lives.

‘And  if you disobeyed?’ he asked in a hoarse voice. He could tell she was hesitant to tell.

‘He...dragged me by my hair and slapped me in front of the peasants or pushed me around. Twice I fell on mud, soaking my hair on the stuff and smelling like horseshit. He then made me return to the castle on foot while him and my brothers rode on horseback up front. I had to fight poachers when they rode too far from me. Nearly got raped once. The bandits fled when they saw the sigil of my house in my ring. My mother never asked what happened. Whenever I returned covered in dirt and hurt, she just assumed I suffered some injury on the road.’ She concluded in a quivering tone.

‘And...what about your brothers?’ he asked in a silent tone.

She swallowed before carrying on.

‘They gossiped about me in parties and soirées, retelling the humiliating episodes between me and my father as they saw fit. I officially became the butt of people’s jokes and lost respect from the rest of the Bannorn. No one truly knew what I had to go through. My suffering was turned into amusement to others.’

Samson found it difficult to believe what that woman had been forced to go through. Was that how nobility treated their children? No, this couldn’t be it. This was downright an abusive household. He remembered being beaten by his father when he misbehaved, but that was different. He had stolen the neighbour’s chicken, threw rocks on his window, teased the butcher more times than he could count...he had deserved it. But that father of hers and those brothers...why did they make her undergo all that suffering? Hell, this shit wasn’t normal. Her family must _hate_ her.

‘Did you confront them about the way they treated you?’ he asked, alarmed.

‘During a party held by his wife, Lady Malchevin, I confronted Patrick, my most outspoken brother, about the lies he had been spreading about me all these years. My father accused me of causing a scandal.  I was often shunned from social gatherings after that and he even forbade me from speaking to outsiders. Disobeying his orders rendered me further punishment. This continued long after my eighteenth birthday. I had no one to trust. No one cared.’ Her voice was hoarse and quavered. She lowered her head and spoke no more.

Talking about the matter brought painful memories. Her eyes were strained and began to water, and her nose began to fill with a reddish tinge. But she held back the urge to cry, as she always did.

From his part, Samson had immediately spun his head toward her. Her pale skin was even paler if that was possible, her fingers were closed tight around the sword handle and her whole figure was tense, if not slightly shivery. There was no trace of a smile on her face. Just a dead serious look.

He was reminded of his time in the Gallows. There was a mage who used to be so cheerful, but for a couple of months, he seemed worn out. He had seen that look before on the faces of countless mages who were oppressed and abused by rogue templars. Samson just knew there was something wrong being done to them. He investigated and found out Ser Alrik threatened to tell Meredith about the one night one of the mages slipped away from his room to meet a templar he “befriended” in the courtyard. The couple were seen kissing and he threatened to make the boy Tranquil if he didn’t do him “favours”.

‘Inquisitor, I...I don’t know what to say. Your father is a downright...bastard.’ he was to use the word “cunt” instead, but he wanted to avoid strong language around her. Especially after his shameful display in the battlements a week ago. ‘What kind of man threatens his children to get what he wants?’ he said, visibly upset.

‘Not all his children.’ And the broken tone in which she said that made his heart ache. This was enough to infuriate him.

‘Cretin. Bloody cretin. Filthy cocksucker, son of a whore, fucking scum, I’ll piss on his fucking corpse...’ Samson went on and on, proffering a torrent of curses under his breath. ‘That fucking arsehole didn’t know any better.’ he continued, still fuming.

‘Oh, he does. He knows everything he’s done to me. Him and my brothers.’ She carried on in the same hoarse tone, shivering as she spoke.

‘What are you going to do? They want to see you. Sounds like they’ll try to torment you again sooner or later.’

With her eyes still watering, her face contorted in such a helpless and pleading expression he regretted having asked in the first place.

‘I’ll confront them. Throw back at them everything they’ve done to me. But I must be ready. I can’t be caught with my guard down. I need to be ready.’ She said more to herself.

‘Hey.’

She turned to look at him.

‘Is there something I can do to help you?’

The kindness in his voice dissipated her sadness and she actually smiled in relief.

‘You already are, Samson. I was right about you. You understand me well.’ She replied in a soft tone ‘I...tried talking about the problems with my family to Josie and Leliana first, and then to Cullen, but...it’s not the same thing.’ She sighted. ‘There was a line I couldn’t cross.’

‘You didn’t feel safe sharing this. It had to be with someone who had been hurt by the same pain.’

She nodded at his statement.

They stood side by side, admiring the broad view of the mountainside. An eagle returned to her nest not too far away. She glanced at his profile, trying to guess what went in his mind. Samson was deep in thought, clearly unhappy about something. Ever since he entered her office, he had given the impression of being more than just upset.

 ‘Hey. You’re looking forlorn. Is someone giving you a hard time here? Who is it?’

He stared back at her, amazed at how she saw through him like an open book. Was he that easy to read?

‘It’s nothing. Do not concern yourself, milady. I can handle it.’

But his reassurance hadn’t been as convincing as he hoped. She gave him a calculating look and for a moment, he wondered whether she was really a mage in disguise. The way she was capable of reading his thoughts pointed to it.

‘I see I can’t delay my plans for you any longer. I’ll be having none of the nobility’s nonsense directed at... at my personnel.’ She corrected herself in time to avoid saying ‘you’.  ‘You should know the staff is already forbidden to say or commit any actions that are offensive to the people I conscripted.’

_Is that why the servants are treating me with such decency? Andraste’s tits, I don’t think I’ve ever heard one of them mentioning my name in their gossips. They must be terrified of stepping out of line._

 ‘Oh, none of the servants are giving me the evil eye. Quite the contrary. A few of them might even be growing affectionate toward me. One or two of them ladies, particularly.’ He added with an amused smile. The stunned look on her face was priceless and he was forced to stifle a laugh.

‘I’m pulling your leg, Inquisitah.’  

She snorted and shook her head, rolling her eyes. ‘I should’ve guessed.’

He hesitated to ask the question, but his curiosity got the better of him.

‘Seriously, though. Have we met before? Or are you a mind reader?’

She arched one of her eyebrows and raised her elbows from the rampart, torso turned at him.

‘It’s just...you seem to know me well.’ He mimicked her gesture. ‘That talk we had in the battlements...I can’t get out of my head. You spoke of many things, like my addiction, my feelings toward the Chantry, my situation before I met Corypheus... I expected Commander Cullen or your Spymaster to mention them to me, but not in the way you did. Not with that much acceptance.’

He swallowed before carrying on, controlling his nervousness. She was silently listening, just as she did a week ago. _What he said mattered to her._

‘And then, you...you opened your own heart to me. I... never thought someone like you would do this. To find... _want’_ he corrected himself ‘To have anything in common with someone like me.’

_Because no one would waste their time on a former templar junkie._

The question was obvious. She was an aristocrat and, regardless of what her self-opinion was, a damn good leader. Someone who was worlds apart from him. He did know by now that she had a brother who died of lyrium withdrawal, that she was abused by her family, that she was depressed, but he didn’t see how this had any connection to his predicament.

‘Have you seen my companions in Skyhold? I know you are acquainted with my advisors in a way.’

‘Yeah, some of ‘em. What of it?’

‘Did any of them seem plagued by depression or looked anywhere near it?’

_None that he could remember. Wait. He remembered now._

‘There was one boy...’

‘He’s a spirit.’ She kindly corrected him.

His head spun back to her.

‘What?’

‘It’s a long story.’ she left it at that ‘My companions are nice people. And to them, I’m the Inquisitor. A figure of power and influence. And that’s it.’

‘So you are to me.’ He said in earnest.

‘Is that what you see in me? Even after our long talk in the battlements?’

His heart skipped a beat as she mentioned their conversation. It was one thing for him to speak about it; another entirely different for her to bring up the subject. He stared at her tired eyes, shadows barely hidden by makeup. The signs of exhaustion were there. But only the trained eye could see.

She was right. To him, she was more than just the Inquisitor. There was a woman behind the title that she had allowed him to see. And continued to allow the second time they met.

‘Alright, Inquisitor. Though I wish I could attribute a name to that face of yours.’

She arched her eyebrows. ‘No one mentioned my name near you?’

He replied people only addressed her as Inquisitor or Herald.

‘Even Varric? He usually has a nickname for everyone.’ She sounded amused.

‘If he did, I ne’er heard it.’

‘I’ll have to talk to him about it. My name’s Erwin. I would say my full name, but there are ten names between my first name and last surname. That would make twelve names in total.’

‘You landlords sure like your fancy names. And here I thought I was special for my mother having named me John Samson. Most Kirkwallers only have one name and surname.’ She smiled at his remark.

‘You still haven’t answered my question...Erwin.’

She hesitated as she always did before opening he heart to him:

‘The only person with whom I felt less lonely was Gerald, as I told you. After he went to the Circle Tower in Denerim, we rarely saw each other anymore. My father made it difficult for me to go visit him. And I found he burned some of the letters Gerald had sent me.’

Samson was terrified at the man’s complete lack of character.

‘Why did he do this?’

‘He wanted to sever my connection to Gerald. He thought my brother placed in my head all the rebellious ideas I had been having after his departure. If anything, I was the one who incited Gerald to rebel against the family; to escape that viper’s nest. Father had no idea.’

She droned on, uttering her confession as thought to a priest:

‘I thought this would be the opportunity to break away from my family, from that cursed existence as the Butcher of Ostwick, to find some purpose. And for a while, I did, or so I believed. But living up to the fantasy of being the Herald of Andraste proved to be another lonely task, one that I was unprepared for. The little people still fear me. The politicians use me, try to overthrow me or ignore me entirely.  Either I’m a symbol of salvation or the devil incarnate. I’m tired of names. I wish I meant something to someone other than any of this.’

He understood her need for friendship. To feel a real connection to someone. But that still didn’t explain why _him_.

‘I’m not sure if I follow.’

‘I don’t feel lonely when I’m with you.’ she blurted out.

Her sentence caught him by surprise. Dare he ask what his heart ached to know?

**‘Only with me?’**

Her eyes shone again with bittersweet emotion.

‘Yes.’ came the soft reply, and Samson could never mistake the longing that was in them.

The both of them just stood there, eyes locked on each other. Time felt suspended and there was no one else in the world but them. 

He wondered whether his dream would become reality in that single moment. A bit hesitant, he fondled her chin and a smile appeared in the corner of her lips. _She didn’t flinch. She never flinched in response to his touches._

He inclined his head ever so slowly, inches from closing the gap that insisted in keeping them apart when the office’s door burst open and in came a messenger, calling frantically for her name. This was enough to startle the couple.

‘Yes, what is it?’ she demanded, successfully hiding her frustration with her usual businesslike manner.

‘Sister Leliana’s new report, Your Holiness. We just received word from our agent stationed in Amaranthine. She and others have been captured.’

 

...

 

‘What in blazes...explain.’

‘Bann Esmerelle’s troops intercepted a group of stragglers. They didn’t wear a uniform and were too well-armed to be a simple group of travelers. There was a fight, but half of them managed to escape and barricade themselves in their hideout. We haven’t received word from our agent ever since.’

So this was it. The smugglers were becoming more aggressive. She wondered if Corypheus could be behind the kidnapping. He had lost his General, he lost his henchmen, he failed to take the Well and now he stood alone. And to make matters worse, the soldiers still hadn’t returned from the Arbor Wilds. If this were Corypheus’ doing, then he had finally caught them. 

‘Should I call Leliana? Or Ser Cullen, Your Worship?’

But the Inquisitor lifted her palm, urging him to settle down.

‘Convey a meeting in the War Room in half an hour. Ask Morrigan to be present.’

The messenger saluted her and left. She then proceeded to wear her battle gear. Samson seemed to struggle with something.

‘You’re going to stop these smugglers?’

She guessed what was in his thoughts.

‘These are my people. Even knowing this could be a trap, I can’t turn my back. I didn’t come this far because of my military skills.’

She picked up her equipment, tying her belt containing her scabbard.

‘The men follow a symbol. A symbol blessed by Andraste. Hide in here and I might as well be blamed for not having protected them in the battlefield.’

But Samson was troubled as he watched her wear the rest of her gear.

‘You can’t go alone.’ He protested.

‘I’m not going alone.’

He slowly approached her.

‘I mean you can’t rely only on Varric, Dorian or that elf, Chuckles.’ She gave him back a weird look. Had he been talking to the dwarf? ‘You’ve become a target. Even more now that you’ve placed a new leader in Orlais. You may have destroyed Corypheus’ army, but there are enemies waiting for an opportunity. And if not them, then Corypheus’ agents won’t hesitate to try something.’

She stopped buckling her boots and started paying attention.

‘Now more than ever, you need to have a seasoned warrior by your side. Someone who knows what Corypheus is capable of...’

Samson was so close he murmured the last words:

‘Someone who can protect you.’

She appreciated his willingness to undergo a life-threatening risk to keep her safe. But this was not the reason that drove him.

‘Why come? You’ll be safe here. If you fear someone within the Inquisition will harm you or worse, you should know this morning I’ve finished writing a directive stating you are entitled to rights within the Inquisition. This is your home, now. That room is yours, Samson. It’s your property, along with many other things, as well as a steady income after your conscription. I wouldn’t make an empty promise and then leave you behind with nothing.’

It was visible he didn’t expect this. His expression showed how much he was touched by her thoughtfulness. Not many people in this world lived by their words.

‘It’s not about that. What if you don’t return?’ he held her arms, voice filled with anguish ‘I...’

_I can’t bear the idea of seeing you die. Not now that I’ve found a woman like you._

She could feel his insecurity. This was her area of expertise, after all. But there was something more. More than just feelings for her. She searched his eyes, but couldn’t fathom it.

‘Samson, I’m no mind reader. Why the sudden eagerness to follow me into danger? You said Corypheus would kill you on sight. He might as well do so should you come with me to Amaranthine.’

_Damn it, woman. Why do you have to be so stubborn?_

Annoyed, he hesitated for a moment, but remembered their talk in the battlements. He decided honesty was the best policy.

‘Your men will never accept Corypheus’ second-in-command as their ally. Not even if the Herald of Andraste determines it must be so. Conscript me as you like, this will mean nothing to them. **I must earn my sword, or I might as well be your pet, Inquisitor.** With all due respect.’

‘Is that what this is about?’

‘Of course this is what it’s about!’ he was losing his patience with her. ‘How can I look your men in the eye if I’m nothing but your...your protégé?’ he couldn’t say lover because it was not true and he couldn’t say friend after they had only shared, what? Two conversations alone? This hardly constituted friendship in his dictionary.

She was as agitated as he was, although her voice was not as altered.

‘Samson, I DO want you to earn your shield. Leliana and I have been discussing how to find an opportunity for you to prove your worth.’

‘Leliana? She’s your spy, spy something, right?’ he forgot the word Spymaster. ‘Why not discuss this with Cullen?’

‘Cullen’s been...reticent in talking about you. He’s still mourning for the fate of many of his former colleagues.’

He could understand the Commander’s feelings. But since the Inquisitor decided he, Samson, now was part of her institution, and the only thing he knew was how to fight like a warrior, he and the Commander would have to come to terms at some point.

‘You’re right. I don’t want you to go because I fear how the soldiers would respond to your presence.’ She said in a soft tone.

‘You think I can’t fend for myself?’ he sounded slightly hurt.

‘No. It’s not that.’

‘Don’t pity me, woman. I may have endured a harsh reality living in the gutter, but that didn’t make me weak. I know what your soldiers will try to throw at me. Let them. There’s nothing they can say that I haven’t already heard.’

He expected her to react poorly, like any woman would after hearing such spite. But once again, she just stared back at him not bothered at all. Unless his eyes were deceiving him, his words had actually brought her some measure of relief. He didn’t have the faintest idea, but his feelings mirrored hers; he had just voiced how she felt after so many years being insulted and diminished by her family back in Ostwick.

His confession had apparently worked. The Inquisitor was made to change her mind.

‘Samson, you are hereby officially conscripted as soldier to the Inquisition. Your first task will be to guard the Inquisitor with your life as she dismantles a smugglers ring in Northern Ferelden. If you succeed, you’ll be granted full knighthood.’ She said in her usual formal tone. ‘Do you accept the task that is bestowed upon you?’

‘Y-yes, Inquisitor. Sir. Ma’am.’ He corrected himself, drawing a small smile from her.

‘Very well. I’ll have the equipment delivered to your room. Meet me and my advisors in the War Room as soon as you’re ready.’ She concluded, going down the stairs.

‘And if we don’t succeed?’

‘Then may the Maker have mercy on us all. For Corypheus will have none.’ She replied with a final tone.

 

...

 

The march to the outskirts of Amaranthine took two weeks. Cullen had insisted in sending a small contingent of soldiers with the Inquisitor, but she insisted all men remain in Skyhold. If Corypheus struck during her absence, their fortress needed to be ready.

She had sent letters to the Bannorn, asking for help to deal with the smugglers. Bann Esmerelle’s men readily greeted the Inquisitor upon her arrival in the city and pledged their arms to her cause. For the remainder of this mission, the commander of Amaranthine’s troops would follow the Inquisition’s banner.

Bann Teagan had also sent some men from the royal army disguised as common soldiers. It was preferable if the smugglers never got wind King Alistair was dispatching troops so near their hideout. Aside from the military forces, the Inquisitor counted on a mercenary group who had just escaped to Ferelden after the crisis in Kirkwall.

Foreseeing tension among the mercenaries and the soldiers, the Inquisitor subtly suggested both camps were set apart from each other, while her large tent and that of her companions would be right in the middle.

After many days of march, they were finally at the location marked on the map. The smugglers were barricaded a few miles further North. It was a mountainous region, difficult to access, with a large waterfall that was soon beginning to freeze with the early arrival of Winter.

Scouts were sent to take a closer look. Hidden by the many hills that permeated the landscape, they slowly approached one of the closest mountains and stood there, spying on what looked like one of the earliest castles built by the warring lords of old, the first members of Fereldan nobility. The unusual narrow windows and tall watchtowers gave away its ancient origins.

One of the scouts identified a single red trail that carved a path on the grass. Could it be blood? But would it be from a recently dead animal or...someone? Someone who had exited that fortress and was injured?

The sinister trail led to a nearby forest, located on the other side of the road. Carefully, two of the scouts descended from the mountain and went to check its whereabouts. Fortunately, two hours still remained until dawn. No one at the castle would be awoke.

An unconscious woman wearing the Inquisition’s uniform lay on the ground, badly injured. They quickly tried to save her, clumsily applying some bandages. She did manage to remain conscious for a few seconds before fainting again and not waking up this time.

She had signalled for something in her pocket and mouthed the word “Inquisitor”. The scouts found her journal, containing all the information necessary regarding the castle’s schematics, guards’ routine, supply lines, everything. Without wasting any more time, the scouts said a quick prayer for the deceased and hurried back to the camp. The burial of those who fell behind would be decided after the smugglers had been dealt with. Those were the Inquisitor’s orders.

 

...

 

‘I hate being the bearer of bad news. Leliana won’t like to hear this.’ She grimly concluded. The Inquisitor knew that agent by name. She had recruited her during one of her incursions in Ferelden, after all. Her Spymaster promptly realised her potential and entrusted her with some of the most difficult missions.

Samson, who had been in the tent with her, made the only comment that was befitting the situation.

‘At least she died in the line of duty. How many get to have that honour? Wherever she is, she must be by the Maker’s side, now.’

Trevelyan seemed lost in thought.

‘She died in the line of duty.’ she was still holding the agent’s journal in her hand.

‘Your Worship?’ one of the soldiers urged to her, seeing her eyes come out of focus.

Without uttering a single word, she marched out of the tent and went to the edge of the camp, demanding the men’s attention.

‘Today, one of our agents died at the hands of the smugglers. She escaped their fortress at great personal risk to bring to us vital information. Here, contained in her journal, are all the castle’s schematics and guards’ routine in great detail. That agent gave her life to ensure our victory. She died in the line of duty so that we wouldn’t.’

The steel in her voice had enraptured even the mercenaries. Slowly, the crowd gathered in front of the figure of that woman.

‘The smugglers trade in death and madness. Kirkwall fell because of the red lyrium. One of Thedas’ oldest institutions, the Templar Order, fell to that thing. I have a man in my service, a survivor, who knows what manner of harm can befall the victims of that red poison. Millions of lives wasted because of Corypheus’ unmeasured ambition. He took those among us who were undeniably our best and turned them against us.’

She gestured to Samson to come forth, who was as befuddled as the rest of the men. Whispers soon followed him all the way to her side:

‘Wait. Wasn’t that Corypheus’ General?’

‘What the fuck is he doing here? Why wasn’t he executed?’

‘Has the Inquisitor gone mad? That guy fed red lyrium to his men. He’s gonna do the same to us!’

‘I heard he was behind Meredith turning into that friggin statue in Kirkwall. Some say he was Corypheus’ agent. I tell ya, it was him behind it all along.’

‘Andraste’s ass, I hope that’s not true.’

‘He must know something we don’t. Maybe he knows who’s behind the smugglers.’

‘A Corypheus agent?’

‘Why not?’

‘Don’t be fucking ridiculous. He was ditched by that frigging abomination after the Inquisitor brought him to his knees. He doesn’t know shite.’

From his part, Samson limited himself to ignore those bastards. He was used to slander and calumny by now. Their words bounced off him.

‘The Inquisition has rescued many people over these past two years and tried to rebuild some semblance of order. Generals, mages, templars, priests, warriors, miners, all corrupted by the red lyrium to do Corypheus’ bidding. And still there are those who would profit from other people’s disgrace. Right now, twenty of my agents remain prisoners in the enemy’s hideout. I have no doubt they might force red lyrium down their throats in an act of spite. Maker knows what sort of abomination will come out of those gates; we might have to cut down our former allies; men and women who once fought for you, your husbands and wives, your children, to stop Corypheus’ madness.’

Casting a glance at Samson, she continued:

‘But no longer. We stand here to draw the line. To rescue those who would sacrifice everything for us. Samson, would you like to say a few words?’

 

...

 

It had been a long time since he had to shout out orders or address a crowd. Of course, he had done so while under Corypheus’ leadership, but that was different. The templars followed him blindly, aware the Order was gone and they wouldn’t survive anywhere else, much in the same way he followed the magister.

He wasn’t really a lieutenant, then. Only a face with whom the templars could relate to, so that Corypheus would ensure their obedience. A charismatic leader and a puppet, nothing more.

He sheathed his long sword and went toward a large upturned wooden box. He pointed at a guard that was distracted and asked for help lifting that heavy thing. Once they placed it on the ground, Samson climbed on top of it, looking down on mercenaries and soldiers alike.

She noticed a discernible change in his posture and knew she was about to see a side of him completely unknown. Fists clenched, with the wind blowing gently through his black mane, he began his speech, and his voice was like the rumbling thunder that preceded  a storm:

‘When I was still a knight-templar in Kirkwall, a group of mage bastards broke into the Gallows and took three of our men hostages. When we broke into their hideout, they had raised the bloody dead and were ready to slaughter every one of my colleagues and me. What did the Knight-Captain do? Turn back and leave those poor sods to die? No. March ahead and risk getting each one of us killed? No. He did better; he turned their own devices against them. And thus saved countless lives with one strike.’

As he finished that last sentence, the typical hoarseness that accompanied his voice was gone and his tone had recovered an assertiveness that had been absent for a longer than he could remember...an assertiveness that she had never heard before. As a result, the crew had gone silent and were beginning to flock.

 ‘My, my; he is quite the orator.’ She thought with satisfaction.

The wind began to blow stronger now, making his hair float around like mad; a prelude to the storm that was to come.

‘They have barricaded themselves in an impenetrable fortress. Those smugglers are not just some common criminal gang. They are well armed, they knew where to strike and where –and HOW- to hide.’

He then displayed a smirk before continuing.

‘Well, it so happens they don’t know much about History, do they? These fucking losers have never been to Ferelden. What they ignore is that every castle in the Bannorn has secret tunnels leading outside. They were built in an Age when Feudal wars were still common and the lords that would one day father the Banns were brutal with the ones they captured. To preserve their family from the horror of war, they would send their beloved through these tunnels in safety. A simple precaution, but one that could be turned against their advantage if the enemy located one of those secret entrances.’

The crew around her was enraptured, eagerly waiting to hear what that former red templar had in mind. The Inquisitor had spared him for some obscure reason; they were now beginning to understand why.

‘What those motherless bastards ignore is what will get them killed. I’ve never liked kidnappers and cut-throats myself. Too much boasting about how much balls they have, but when it’s theirs that’s on the line, they shrink back until they begin to look like a pussy. Sorry, ma’am.’ He turned his head to her, apologising for the strong words. She nodded with a smile in approval.

The men laughed and he could feel the tension dissipating. Some of the stares who were hostile before now twinkled with amusement. They were warming up to whom they slowly came to recognize as one of their own.

A thunder ominously roared in the distance, lending more power to his booming voice. To the gullible soldiers, the sudden change in the weather was a manifestation of the Maker’s presence right at that very moment. As it usually happens among the populace, they began to slowly come up with the belief that He had sent that man to follow the Herald on purpose.

‘One of our agents sacrificed herself to bring us the castle’s schematics. We will honour her death in this attack. The Herald and I will begin working on plans to ensure a successful invasion. They will never see us coming. Those fuckers dare kidnap some of our best men? Then I say; let’s show them what happens when you mess with the Inquisition! Let’s show them what we’re made of! This shitty operation stops here. **This is where we draw the line!** ’

The crowd immediately raised their voices and shouted in agreement. Swords were lifted, as well as daggers, bows and staffs. Samson merely looked back at the crowd, eyes blazing and a victorious smile displayed on his flushed face. For her part, the Inquisitor could barely believe the transformation he underwent.

With an amused thought, she thought he honored the title of Lion of Skyhold much better than Cullen. He certainly knew how to roar, assemble the flock and take the lead, compared to the Commander, who was quite shy and not given to speeches at all.

_He is good at brandishing a sword and ordering the men to keep fighting. But that is a long distance from leading. And not just some troops; the whole military forces of my institution._

It all came down to this; Samson had presence. Cullen limited himself to be a figurehead, to look respectable and do what was expected of him.

In the end, she saw the confirmation of the first impression that man had caused ever since she laid eyes on him without him ever being the wiser. A caged lion raged inside him, waiting for the chance to prove himself. A man of bravery, wit and skill whose life had been less than kind and fortuitous. A man forced into unwilling submission by circumstance. Twice had fate interfered to change the course of his life. The first one led him downward a spiral that would result in madness followed by death. But the second now set him in a steady path toward redemption and held promising hope where once he saw nothingness awaiting him.

He walked amidst the crowd, nodding to the soldiers who watched him pass by and greeted him respectfully, mentioning his name. For the first time in more than a decade, he felt that familiar sense of pride swelling inside. He turned his gaze to the figure of the Inquisitor, standing lonesome in front of her tent while waiting for him to come inside. She had been watching him silently with what he distinguished could only be pride in her eyes.

 


	5. Samson, Knight of the Inquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Samson earns his shield back after confronting a ghost from his past and wins fair maiden's heart...only to dread losing her to Corypheus.
> 
> WARNING  
> VERY Strong Language  
> Explicit Material  
> Violence

 

**_‘It’s been a long time since anyone could get under my skin with that. I know what I am.’_ **

 

 

The first mists were covering the moor. Beyond the ominous ancient castle of black stones, the sea of fog made sure nothing was visible below the tree lines. Only the occasional hoot of an owl could be heard or the wind blowing through the tall pines. The dawn was coming.

‘The Maker favors our endeavor.’ Erwin murmured, gazing at the solid pitch black construction faraway. ‘The smugglers won’t see our troops approaching from miles until we’re at their doorstep.’

The Inquisitor gave Samson the signal and he urged the troops under his command to move toward the planned spot. She waited for about twenty minutes until they were positioned, never diverting her attention from the castle, afraid the bandits might get wind of movement outside. She asked now and then to the scout whether the other team had already given the signal.

The designated scout from Samson’s team climbed the hillside and confirmed their arrival. Erwin didn’t waste another second and marched toward the gates, with the banners of the Inquisition held high right behind her.

 

...

 

The smugglers were awoken by the strident blow of a horn. Next thing they knew, there was a woman giving a loud speech outside. Her booming voice echoed through the moor and scared the birds in the forest nearby, making them take flight. Since they were half asleep, they could only make out a few words. Their leader came through the main corridor only half dressed and crossed the courtyard, cursing as he still fastened his trousers.

‘Andraste’s flaming ass, what the fuck is going on? Has that Esmerelle bitch figured out where we're hiding?’

‘It worked, boss; it’s the Inquisition.’ Answered the second-in-command, ordering the men to clear the path to the watch tower.

As he arrived atop the construction, he looked down at the army below, hoisting the one-eyed sigil. And leading that army was the Inquisitor in person. The gigantic man began to laugh and told his men to gather in the courtyard and for the archers to stand at the ready.

‘Do what ye want with her army, but I want that fucking cunt alive. And untouched’ he added, giving a sardonic laugh ‘Her ransom alone will be worth enough te allow us to buy us a ship in Rivain and tell that Orlesian te sod it. Open the fucking gates! Let those idiots come!’

As the Inquisitor’s army waited outside, unaware of the trap that awaited them, the gates were opened and inside, a multitude comprised of dozens of thousands of mercenaries and bandits faced them, eagerly anticipating the slaughter.

‘Milady, I don’t want to sound like a coward, but we should have told Samson and his men to advance first.’ said the captain of the amaranthine soldiers.

‘Fear not, sir. Most of these men never learned how to properly hold a sword. Each of our trained soldiers can cut down three of them with relative ease.’  He stared back at her, mesmerized by her impressive confidence.

Erwin drew her sword and brandished the following command: ‘My fellow soldiers -and I call you my fellows, for in the name of the Inquisition, I did many battles without an army following me- our comrades are being held within those walls. These bastards have taken our families and friends, your brothers and sisters, your wives and husbands and spat on the name of the Inquisition.  But I tell you this: no one holds innocents in our lands and lives! The Inquisition shall perpetrate divine justice to these kidnappers, rapists and other lowly scum. The prisoners shall not be left to die!’

‘Today, blood shall be spilled in these hills. The god of death will bathe in their blood and the Maker shall spit on their faces! By the Maker's will and his authority granted upon me, Andraste's justice shall be done, and it tastes of steel! My sword shall sing as I cleave each one the cowards that hides within these walls! This black castle shall be your tomb!! To arms! To battle! To victory!’

The crowd roared behind her and followed their leader as she rushed into the castle, yelling ‘I will bring your heads to Andraste myself!’. A mad frenzy had swayed the men under her command and some of the bandits standing right in the first row were visibly shaken. They had expected an honourable leader ahead of that army, spitting words the nobles loved to use, with their empty speeches filled with bullshit, not this...this Valkyrie demanding death and blood.

‘Are ye pussies or men? C’mon! Shove a sword through them, ya bastards, or I’ll be havin’ yer heads meself!’ shouted the leader from above.

Swords began to clash and heads were sent flying. The ground soon was stained in blood.

...

 

Erwin’s inspirational speech echoed in the moor and reached Samson’s ears.

‘That’s the signal. Hurry!’

The mages in the group cast the invisibility spell. Soon, the hidden troops reached one of the secret entrances. One of the rogues deftly unlocked the door, but it was jammed.

‘What’s the holdup? It’s freezing out here!’ one of the mercenaries complained.

Samson decided to send discretion to hell.

‘Oy! Mage! C’mere! Help me blast this thing out of the way!’

The mage did as ordered and asked for everyone to stand aside. Aiming a powerful Stonefist, and then another, the door came crashing down and revealed a flight of stairs.

They heard one of the smugglers shout a ‘what the fuck’ up there and Samson didn’t wait one more second.

‘Let’s cut down these bastards! One sovereign for each one you behead. Soldier and mercenary alike. Ten if you manage to make it through the battle without a single scratch.’

The men roared wildly behind him, eager to chop off heads and limbs. They began to push each other as they climbed the stairs, axes and swords in hand. The smuggler who had shouted saw an arrow go through his head and fell on top of another, who squeaked in shock upon seeing his comrade drop dead without warning. Samson himself felt his blood boil and was soon thrusting his longsword right in the back of the unsuspecting foes that never saw him coming.

As soon as they had killed everyone on the room, the group rushed ahead and burst through the second door. The mercenaries on the other side turned their astonished faces to the upcoming hoard. Samson lead the charge with a war cry, cleaving the nearest bastard like he was cutting butter.

‘How the fuck did they come in he-UGH’ the mage cast a petrifying spell on a dwarf warrior and a mercenary’s axe came down, beheading him with a messy cut. Half his head still dangled from his neck and his foe proceeded to storm on the others.

It had been years ever since Samson fought for something greater than himself. For a cause that had an honourable purpose. But more than that, he fought alongside men like him; the common folk upon whom the nobility always looked down. These men had acknowledged him as one of their kind – at least for the remainder of the mission – and followed him willingly. He was not a glorified general in a mad mage’s army anymore. He was Samson, a lover of a good fight and just one of the people; a man willing to prove his valor again...and who knows, end up winning some reward by the end of the day...such as a lady's favor. A certain lady, in whose eyes he had recently grown.

They climbed another flight of stairs and saw the way barred by another door. If his calculations were correct, this one led to the battlements.

‘Mage, are you dead yet?’

‘No, sir.’ Came the fickle voice from far behind. Samson stipulated he was recently out of his apprentice hood.

‘Good. Show us that trick of yours again.’ He pointed at the locked door with the sword.

‘Right on, sir.’

...

 

The Inquisition had the upper hand at first, but the battle was soon turning into a massacre. Arrows plunged from above, quickly decimating her troops. Erwin had to shout several times for the mages to reinforce the protective barriers.

Somewhere from the sidelines, flaming bottles were being thrown, full of a combustible substance. It exploded and spread through the soldier’s clothes, and the flames spread with terrifying haste, licking and spitting toward other soldiers. The mages had their hands busy to try and quench the flames while having to neutralize the archers.

Half her troops were decimated and there we still more bandits coming from inside the castle. She swept the courtyard with a frightened glance and murmured:

‘Where are you, Samson? Please don’t tell me you fled when I need you the most.’

An archer came crashing down from the battlements, and then another. They were falling like dead flies. The noise of collapsing bodies as they hit the ground was gruesome, but at least some of them fell on the smugglers. Less enemies to kill.

‘Inquisitor, look! He made it!’ shouted the captain.

Erwin dared to raise her eyes for just a second and saw Samson cutting down the archers one by one, protecting his front with his shield against the upcoming arrows and advancing on the enemy as he took time to reload.

The leader of the smugglers saw Samson’s advance and exited the watch tower. He ran along the battlements shouting orders for the archers to keep attacking and reached the main building, disappearing from sight.

‘Let’s go get that swine! Ten sovereigns for the one who brings me his head!’ Erwin heard Samson shout from above.

The mercenaries followed him even more enthusiastically, advancing through the battlements and taking down the archers with no mercy. Samson took the time to watch how the battle was unfolding down in the courtyard. From the look of things, the Inquisitor wasn’t doing as well as he hoped.

He picked up one of the bows from a fallen archer and aimed at the mongrels who dared attack his woman, careful not to hit her. She looked around, searching for her saviour and heard a loud whistle from above. He waved once at her and then ran away, sword and shield in hand, ready to hunt down the fat pig who ran away and let his men die.

He could feel her gaze following him for brief moments before the Inquisitor was thrust into battle again.

‘Hold on, Erwin. I’ll get back to you.’ He promised under his breath, thrusting his sword into another archer.

‘We can’t go on like this forever!’ shouted the captain.

‘Their numbers have diminished. There are no more men coming from the castle.’ Erwin replied.

‘So Samson and his men took care of them.’ Came the astonished comment.

‘That’s right.’ She shouted in response.

She knew what went on in his mind. In the mind of the captain of the king’s army as well, and that of the mercenary band. They all believed the former templar would betray them at some point. They were almost certain Corypheus was behind the smugglers’ operation, amassing huge amounts of red lyrium to rebuild an army and invade Southern Thedas again. They had hoped to catch Samson red-handed and bring him to justice; to true justice, as they saw fit. Many in the military disagreed with the fate the Inquisitor had reserved for him.

‘We still need to find the prisoners!’ the captain shouted back.

‘Worry about staying alive first!’ she urged, bringing the discussion to an early conclusion.

...

 

‘Where did that fat fuck hide?’ Samson murmured under his breath.

They were back into the castle, trying to locate the leader of the smugglers. If they held him hostage, Samson could trade his life for the prisoners and the battle would be over.

‘I don’t like this, sir. This castle is a fucking labyrinth. We could look for days and not find’im at all.’

‘Shh. I hear something.’

As the troops advanced through the halls, they heard muffled sounds coming from one of the rooms. One of the smugglers apparently hadn’t joined his colleagues in the fight. He was soaking wet in urine and stuttered when he saw the dark haired man with mad eyes and wearing an his armor stained in blood approach him.

‘This runt smells of fear.’ One of the mercenaries commented.

‘Fear and urine. Filthy pig.’ Another one said, and he spat on the floor.

‘Where does your fucking leader hide?’ Samson roared in his strong voice.

The man stuttered it was just around the corner, pointing with a shaky finger.

‘And what is the way to his office, love? We are in a bit of a hurry.’ One of the mercenaries insisted, cynical.

Samson didn’t like playing the henchmen. The man was beyond frightened; he was terrified. He was sure the man harbored no illusions about being killed horribly even if he cooperated. But those men would never respect Samson unless he made an example of that guy.

As he grabbed the poor sod by the scruff of his neck and held him at sword point, he couldn’t avoid comparing his situation to what the Inquisitor did with him during his trial. She had to make a display of strength. There was no other way.

‘Lead the fucking way’ he growled in a menacing way ‘If I find out you’re lying, I’ll disembowel you right in front of your colleagues. And then, place your head on a spike right in front of the gates. D’you hear me?’ he shook the man once, eliciting a faint ‘yes’ from him.

Onward they went, with Samson dragging the man ahead of him as they marched down the corridor.

...

 

A group of mercenaries protected the entrance to the leader’s office. Firebolts erupted through the hall as the mage singed the group. The warriors then advanced in the flaming enemies, attacking them mercilessly as they panicked. Daggers flew through the air, thrown by cloaked rogues as they passed unnoticed. Samson actually had his life saved by a precise dagger that hit a giant of a man squarely on the forehead. 

The door to the office was violated when the doorknob was sent flying by the swing of a heavy axe.

‘Good one!’ Samson approved, kicking the door open. 

Inside was the leader of the smugglers, brandishing his greatsword and yelling curses at the invaders of his base. Samson appraised the man and said:

‘I’ve never seen a fatter man in my life, and I tell you, I’ve seen all sorts. You’ve not swung anything in a long time. Except your dick when you’ve finished taking a piss.’ The mercenaries’ booming laugher echoed in the halls. ‘You’re gonna die of a stroke just by lifting that blade before I can do anything to you.’

‘A smart mouthed one, eh? Well, I’ve got a few words for you as well, traitor.’ The man teased. Samson immediately caught on the provocation.

‘What did you call me?’

The man roared and advanced on him, bringing down his greatsword in one sudden strike. Samson jumped out of the way and was missed by inches. The attack left a deep gash on the floor, ruining the tiles.

The mercenaries meant to attack him, but Samson urged them to go find the prisoners. He could take care of that bastard.

‘Oh, you can? Just like you took care of the men under your charge, General?’

The man swung his gigantic weapon again and sundered Samson’s shield. A few inches more and he would’ve broken his arm.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded, unnerved by the man’s words.

His enemy swung again and Samson defended himself with his sword, almost being thrown to the ground with the sheer force the smuggler returned his strike.

‘I’m Harold Connely. Former Knight-Templar Connely of Kirkwall. One of the men once under your charge, General. Naturally, I turned into a deserter. Before the Lord Seeker could have me transformed.’    

The mercenaries stood quite still near the door in complete silence.

Samson finally recognized the man’s facial traits.

‘You...you were there. You saw Corypheus invade the city and...’

‘Yes. He was the one who made the red lyrium spread so quickly. And what did you do while his monsters pillaged the city?’

Samson’s breath was shallow and he hastily got up, putting some distance himself and his foe. There was a mad glint in his eyes as he advanced toward Samson’s cautious figure.

‘You fled. You ran away. And left your own men to die.’

And with that, he stroke again, as mercilessly as before. Samson swiftly parried the incoming blow. But before he could counterattack, Connely swung his free hand and slapped his face, throwing him off balance. Samson’s longsword flew from his hand and he fell on the floor, feeling his jaw had slightly dislodged with the sheer force of the blow.

‘I’ll kill you and that prostitute and then use your heads to decorate my office!’ he roared, lifting his greatsword to strike the last blow.

...

 

The last bandits had now been killed. Only a tenth of the Inquisitor’s original troops remained. Erwin herself was bleeding from injuries in her arm and leg and almost fainted. One of the mages forced a potion down her throat and she recovered her senses.

‘The prisoners...we have to...’

‘Stay here, Inquisitor. We’ll take care of it.’

The captain of the king’s army then summoned what was left of his troops to storm the castle halls and search the area. First they would try the dungeons, the most likely location where they would be found.

Now only the captain of the Amaranthine guard and a few dozen soldiers and mages remained.

‘We made it, milady.’ He panted. ‘Congratulations. Bann Esmerelle will be happy to know the smugglers have been dealt with.’

‘Not yet. I haven’t seen their leader in the fight. And where’s Samson? I didn’t see him return.’

 The captain shouted for one of the scouts to inform the location of Samson, but the man shrugged and said he went into the castle through the battlements. So far he had not emerged from there.

The captain looked back at the Inquisitor ready to give her the bad news and saw she wore an alarmed expression.

‘I’m sorry, milady, but I regret to inform you that he’s likel-’

‘No.’ She interrupted him, mustering the rest of her strength to get up.

‘Milady, what are you doing? You’re injured. You must rest.’ He got up after her, urging her to sit down. She shoved the arm he offered her and picked her sword from the ground, entering the castle halls to search for the man she loved.

She refused to believe he was gone.

‘If you die, I swear I’ll kill you, you bastard. Don’t you dare leave me alone, too.’ She muttered under her breath as she sniffed fighting back the tears, shuddering at the unbidden image that haunted her mind as she rushed through the windy and empty corridor.

...

 

The giant of a man came crashing down with all his force. Samson took advantage and rolled to the side with all his might. His longsword was kicked to the other side of the room and he was left without weapons.

He almost slipped as he distanced himself from his foe and had to grab on a table behind him for support. His fingers felt the handle of a dagger and clasped around it tightly.

Harold Connely...Connely...he recognized the surname. He had been one of the templars who got expelled from the Order, much like he was; a former follower of Ser Alrik, he was. Although Connely was only thrown out many years after Samson was, when Ser Alrik's crimes were brought to light.

After Cullen left Kirkwall and his replacement died in the civil war, Samson helped bring a semblance of order to a city that slowly crumbled after so many upheavals. In the absence of leadership, he was appointed Knight-Captain and brought many former templars back to the Order, Connely amongst them.

'I'm no longer serving Corypheus.' he said in an urgent voice.

'And what good will that do me now? Huh? Wasn't it you who sat through the Lord Seeker's destruction of our Order?'

Connely's words rang with truth. Even the mercenaries knew Samson had betrayed his kin.

'I did what I could so as to avoid that monster wiping out the rest of us! He sent that demon long after he had already corrupted the officers! You think I could've done anything to stop him? The Order had already fallen long before Corypheus arrived!'

But Connely merely gave back a sardonic laugh.

'I saw you. In Kirkwall. Fleeing from the Gallows.'

For the first time, Samson's fears came true. So someone had witnessed his cowardly action; the one action that had doomed him.

'Yes, I saw it; me and my battalion were fending off the red monsters that attacked the families in Lowtown. And there you were, running away as you left your comrades to die, crawling back to the gutter, like the rat you are.'

With a feeling of dread, Samson foresaw where this tale was going. He wanted the man to shut up, but the words died in his throat.

'And what do I see afterwards? You, pledging yourself to the service of that fucking creature. Even swore an oath and everything.'

'I was already dead when that thing found me. You think he told me what his true plans were? For me, for my men? He used me! And then discarded me, like everyone else!'

But Connely was barely listening.

'The Knight-Captain abandons his troops and strikes a bargain with Corypheus while the city burns. And the rest of us gets slaughtered by his red templars. Once a rat, always a rat. I'd thought someone like you earning your shield back would turn you back into a man...but it seems you had no fucking honor to begin with.' he arched an eyebrow, hostility etched on his traits.

Samson stared tensely at the man, murmuring it had been a long time since someone could get under his skin like that. But he was no longer that man. He knew what he was – or better yet, WHO he was - now.

He then licked his lips, measuring his words carefully.

'Connely, that thing is out there, friendless and without followers. He's almost defeated. The Inquisition could've killed me. Instead, they are using me against him. They want to restore order, give a second chance to...'

His speech had only made the former templar grow angrier than he already was.

‘You think I’ll follow that cocksucker who flaunts herself as the Herald of Andraste? Now that the Chantry fell, anyone is stepping up on its corpse on the way to glory.’

For the first time in his life, Samson felt the black hatred he reserved for the Chantry and the Knight-Commander who ruined his life turned against a common man. He was a decent person and truly believed in his fellow men, even at times undeservedly so. He never excused faults; but he tried to see the other side of everything. He tried to be fair.

But this guy? There was nothing redeeming about him.

‘Did I struck a nerve?’ Connely continued to press his luck. ‘Maker’s balls, you should look at your face. They way I talked about her, you’d think I had just talked about your mother.’

‘You fucking bastard...’ Samson muttered under his breath, seeming very much unlike himself staring hard at his former colleague with a murderous expression.

‘What the fuck. You do like her.’ He stared at the former general, still in disbelief. Samson said nothing in return. Connely hurt and faulted Samson for it. He would provoke his former boss and hurt him in return. To make him pay dearly for all the suffering he endured.

The man gave a sick laugh and swung his greatsword again, advancing in his direction. The room was narrower in that part and Samson had no escape route. He kicked a bucket that was close by toward that cretin, nearly making him stumble. He then aimed the dagger at his face, but his foe was quicker. He parried the attack and tried to punch, then choke Samson, since the greatsword was too big to be moved in such a tight corner.

Being the lean man he was, Samson escaped his grasp by forcing himself against the wall and climbing the man’s belly, kicking him in the face.

‘What a nice way to treat your former colleagues, Knight-Captain.’ Connely teased, spitting a tooth. ‘So that bitch really bought your loyalty, eh? Is she a better master than Corypheus? What did she offer you that he didn’t?’

‘Certainly not what he has offered you for all this, Connely.’ Samson replied darkly, gesturing for the mercenaries to throw him a dagger.

The big man laughed at this.

‘He’s not offered me anything, you fucking moron. He doesn’t even know I exist.’

The mercenaries exchanged an astonished look.

‘Only Corypheus has use for that much red lyrium.’ Samson insisted, carefully.

Connely seemed to consider his words and said:

‘Apparently he’s not the only one.’

This was not the answer he expected.

‘The hell is that supposed to mean? Connely?’

But the giant of a man was reticent.

‘You’ll never learn of my employer. Consider yourself lucky for having even managed to lay your eyes on me once more. As for your pretty Inquisitor...’

He grabbed his greatsword from the ground, staring hard at Samson in a threatening way.

‘I’ll spread the legs of that fucking cunt and bury myself nice and warm in there. And then I’ll stick my cock in her shithole as well!’

...

 

Erwin heard loud voices and the sound of crashing furniture from afar. She hurried to where they came from, praying she wouldn’t be too late.

The doors in the corridor of that section wouldn’t budge, forcing her to destroy the doorknob and kick them open. One of the mercenaries heard her bashing outside and yelled ‘Over here!’, signalling for her to come.

As she arrived in the room, the crowd parted way and the following scene met her eyes. The place was a mess, with the furniture all but destroyed. A greatsword lay on the ground, broken, along with bits and pieces of someone’s rather large armor. And in the back corner of the room stood Samson, sporting a few wounds and bruises and holding a large man at knife point.

If the setting wasn’t so tense, she would let out a relieved breath. From the depth of the cuts he had inflicted on him, Samson had been vicious during the fight. The cuts showed evidence of cruelty. And the intensity of the stare he directed at the man was frightening.

_This is atypical of him. I don’t remember him fighting against me with such blind hatred. What happened here to elicit such fury in his calm disposition?_

‘Thought I couldn’t defend myself after I was disarmed? I was among cut-throats most part of my life, you little shit.’ He growled in a low, menacing tone, drawing a drop of blood as he spun the knife on his neck.

Samson then ordered the men to tie the prisoner down. If the enemy army had captured the Inquisitor, he would bargain this idiot’s life for hers. One of the mercenaries coughed and he shouted an annoyed ‘What?’

‘Can’t you see I can’t divert my attention from this arsehole? Get me a rope or something and tie him down! Help me here!’

One of his men grabbed some rope that was hanging in the room and tied Connely down. Erwin just watched, ever patient. Once he was done, he muttered to Samson the Inquisitor was already there.

He spun his head to her and let out an astonished ‘Oh.’

She congratulated him on the capture and said the rest of the army had killed the bandits. The mercenaries cheered behind her. But still, according to her, there was no sign of the prisoners.

Samson handed a parchment to her containing the seal of an Orlesian house.

‘Here, Your Worship. This was on his desk. Along with that.’ He threw a purse that chinked. Coins. Lots of them. And all golden, she had no doubt.

Once she finished the letter, she was left with more questions than before.

‘They are smuggling the red lyrium to Antiva. Large amounts of it.’

‘Antiva? Why the hell would they smuggle it to Antiva?’

One mercenary reminded them Antiva was the land of corruption. If anyone wanted to smuggle anything, they needed to ship it to Antiva first. Whoever was leading this operation, they didn’t want to be tracked down.

And the seal...it belonged to a noble house. One Erwin didn’t know much about. She’d have to show Leliana the letter and hope she would have better answers.

‘Alright. Let’s wrap up things here. The Inquisition would like to thank the men of the Kirval and the Hurst Companies for their services. You will be duly rewarded in Skyhold and receive a formal Letter of Rendered Services. This document will establish you have worked for the Inquisition. Your services will also be recommended to our political and military allies.’

Both leaders of said companies thanked the Inquisitor and asked her what they should do with that idiot. Connely was still alive.

‘I’ll take care of it.’

Samson punched the prisoner’s forehead, rendering him unconscious. He was then blindfolded and gagged. The few surviving smugglers would be taken back to Skyhold for judgement.

...

 

As it turned out, Harold Connely was delivered to Bann Esmerelle as a gift from the Inquisition. She was to do with the prisoner as she saw fit. The next morning, a raven came to Skyhold telling of his swift execution.

The remaining smugglers were sentenced to work in the lyrium mines belonging to a friend of Varric’s from the Merchant’s Guild. They liked lyrium so much, they would now spend the remainder of their days appreciating the hard and hazardous work that was its extraction.

The mercenaries of the Kirval and Hurst companies were invited to rest in Skyhold for a fortnight before taking the road. As it was, they got to spend a long time in the Harold’s Rest and told exaggerated tales of their leader’s battle. Word of Samson’s heroic doings and inspiring speech spread like fire through the barracks. Unsuspectingly, his reputation in the Inquisition had begun the curious process of shifting from a stray mongrel spared out of mercy to a competent commander of troops and able swordsman.

As it happened, he was summoned to the Great Hall in two hours. She warned him to wear his best armour. Upon his arrival, there were two rows of people staring down at him. But the stares this time were far from hostile.

‘Samson, if you would approach the throne.’ Called the Inquisitor’s voice from the other side.

He tried not to look anyone directly in the eye, difficult as it was. The voices began whispering again as he passed them by. But this time, they sang to a different tune:

‘He fought down the leader of the smugglers one on one. Did you hear about the size of the man? He had almost double his weight in muscles!’

‘He disarmed a man with a greatsword using only a dagger. A friggin dagger. Can you imagine that?’

‘He took down the archers _and_ half of the bandits. They were outnumbered by almost triple the size of their own army!’

‘How did a man like that get expelled from the templar army?’

‘Word is, that Meredith was crazy. The way I see it, she was the one who wasted a good resource. Pity the Inquisition never recruited him before Corypheus did.’

_Maker be damned...I never thought I’d live to see the day one of these noble bastards actually had something good to say about the likes of me._

‘Inquisitor.’ He had reached the throne and kneeled to her, not before stealing a glance. She was dressed head to foot in silvery armor, with her hair styled in an elegant bun. 

‘John Samson Stratford, you risked your life and lent your ability with both the sword and the command of military troops to the Inquisition. By submitting to our orders and successfully help us hunt down a potential threat to the nations of Orlais and Ferelden, we hereby conscript you to the service of this institution.’

Erwin approached him drawing her sword; the blade shone after being extensively polished. She touched both his shoulders a total of three times as she pronounced the following words:

‘By the power invested in me, I name you, John Samson Stratford, Knight to the Inquisition. Your responsibilities shall be to guard the Inquisitor during her missions and to serve as Lieutenant of the Inquisition’s forces.’

From the corner of his eye, Samson noticed Cullen fidgeted in his spot, but the Commander said nothing.

‘A troop shall be assigned to you and by you will be trained. Do you accept the honour that is bestowed upon you?’

‘Yes, Your Worship.’

She raised her hand.

‘Then rise, Samson. I salute you as our new member. Welcome to the Inquisition. May it serve you well as I have no doubt you will service our fine institution.’

  Samson turned around and the crowd cheered – actually cheered – him on. He made an effort not to snarl and shake his head at the hypocrites watching him. This was a formality; he could count at least a dozen of people who wanted nothing to do with him and another dozen who truly despised him.

As he descended the steps, he turned to the Inquisitor one last time, eyes gleaming with genuine emotion:

‘I won’t disappoint you, Erwin.’

She opened a small smile, sensing the gratitude in his words.

 

**The next day...**

 

The matter of the smugglers had been barely resolved when the Inquisition was flooded with urgent messages from all over the Bannorn. Rogue red templars were attacking villages as vengeance for the destruction of the mines in the Sahrnia quarry. They no longer had their supply of red lyrium and terrified the locals.

The Spymaster soon got wind of a red templar leading the horde and his whereabouts. Ten villages stood on their current path. She advised Erwin to deal with the matter quickly, before more innocents fell in their hands.

As it was, the Inquisitor departed with a single troop to Northern Ferelden and put a stop to their madness. She had returned only one week later with good and bad news. The red templars had been dealt with; but they had lost almost their men and most of the villagers couldn’t be saved.

‘At least the threat was contained.’ Cullen observed.

‘So many losses...five of my agents never made it back. Three of them were some of my best. I’m glad we won’t have to worry with those monsters for a long time.’ Leliana observed.

Erwin had barely returned from her mission and was already in the War Room discussing the next step in their plan to stop Corypheus. There wasn’t much they could do with most of the Inquisition’s forces still traveling back from the Arbor Wilds.

Meanwhile, Samson grew restless during her absence, still getting used to his new position. But that wasn’t the matter that truly consumed him and made him have sleepless nights:

_Seven hells! When will this goddamn meeting finish? What does one have to do to get a chance to talk to the Inquisitor?_

Hands clasped behind his back, he walked back and forth from the War Room’s door. Varric watched him from afar, amusing himself. The dwarf had already perceived for there to be something going on between Erwin and that sourpuss. No one got named a knight in the record time he did.

_It’s been a goddamn week already. I haven’t even had the opportunity to give her a single hello. Why won’t these people solve their own fucking problems for a change? Bloody vampires. What do they think the Inquisition is? A charity house?_

His mind kept bringing him back to that interrupted kiss in her balcony. He was sure, dead sure, sure as the grass was green and the sky was blue that she felt the same for him. It was just a matter of having some time alone with her and setting things in motion again. He would be able to lay bare his feelings and let her know how exactly she made him feel, how much he _wanted_ her.

Samson walked to the door, still hesitant to knock. He shouldn’t interrupt her reunion with her advisors like this. But that could be his last chance to talk to her about the one subject that mattered the most to him...

A burst of green light shone upon the throne and illuminated his figure.

_No. It can’t be. That sodding bastard is here? **Already?**_

The nobles in the Great Hall murmured frightened words. The door to the War Room burst open and through came the Inquisitor. She stopped dead on her tracks when her eyes fell upon him. A look of mutual concern was shared between them for a split second before she resumed taking control of the situation.

‘Get the visitors to safety! Close all the entrances! Guards to the courtyard and main bridge, archers to the battlements! Hurry!’

He rushed behind her, unsure if he would have a chance to at least exchange a few words with her. The subject be damned. She was leaving for her final confrontation with that monster. He might never lay eyes on her again.

Before she left through the great doors, he uttered her name with faint hope.

‘Erwin...’

She turned around, taking advantage of the few moments it would take for her advisors to calm the masses. His fear of seeing her for the last time was mirrored in her eyes. She was equally startled by the enemy’s sudden appearance, for it meant never sharing one single moment with him while they still could.

He pulled her to a discreet spot, where they could talk more at ease.

‘I don’t know how to say this, but...you’re the most important thing in my life. I’m sorry for all the times I was rude to you and spoke unkind words. If I knew you were this woman, I’d...I’m glad it was you sitting on the throne that day and not some oaf with half a brain and more muscles in his arm than wits. You’ve given me back my sword without terms or conditions, restored my sense of self, my dignity and my pride, and Erwin... _you’ve given me something else to hope for_...’

‘Will you please shut up? The Commander is trying to say something!’ Dorian yelled outside

‘He is NOT sending an army to Skyhold.’ Cullen reassured the masses.

He caressed her face with his palm, rubbing his thumb against her cheek.

‘You’ve given me yourself and...I want to do the same... **if you’ll have me**.’

Her eyes lit up in response and he could tell she felt the same. He was **sure** of it.

‘Inquisitor? Where...? She was here a moment ago. Is she still in the Great Hall? Where did she go?’ her companions began to miss her and were growing restless.

He held her hands with even more desperate need.

‘Promise me you’ll return.’

His frail voice almost broke her heart there and then. She didn’t want to think what would happen to him if she didn’t prevail over her foe.

‘You don’t have to fear for me. I have someone to return to.’

_Some **one**. Not something. Not the Inquisition. He HAD heard it right. _

She was about to hold him, and perhaps even give him a goodbye kiss...

‘Inquisitor!’ the shouted command startled her, ruining the mood.

‘Wait for me. I WILL return! I promise.’ 

Her hands slipped through his and he felt the familiar emptiness permeate his chest once more, watching her depart through the doors to an uncertain fate...

Many hours later, Samson let his feet carry him toward a small alcove near the garden. There, he stood in mourning silence, staring hard at the statue of Andraste.

_If you let her die, you bitch, I’ll spend the remainder of my days doing everything in my power to take my vengeance on the bastards who propagate this lying shit of a chant._

He sniffed and walked back to his dormitory, still feeling every bit as miserable as when he left. As he made the way back, Samson let the tears fall freely from his eyes, not caring if someone watched him at all.

...

 

It had been ten hours since she departed. The fight against Coypheus had taken its toll. The Anchor had done quite some damage to her arm and she could barely feel her hand at all. With a nonchalant attitude, Dorian reassured her all would be fine. The damage wasn’t permanent, a Healer would speed up recovery, blah, blah, blah, she would feel her hand back in one week or so to please herself a she saw fit with it. She questioned how he could make fun of her in such a dire situation, to which he replied the point of making fun of disgrace was for it to stop looking so frigging grim in the first place.

The welcome committee was grand; her advisors helped her up the stairs and the crowd below cheered on the return of their saviour. She enjoyed the attention and made a brief speech, thanking her companions for all their support. Victory would not have been possible without them. And no matter how hard the enemy tried to exploit their weaknesses, the Inquisition would help the main institutions of Thedas to re-emerge and become strong once again.

As she spent those precious final moments with the whole lot of them, drinking and chatting away, she noticed someone was absent.

She discreetly approached the Spymaster.

‘Where’s Samson?’

‘Well, last my agents checked, he was here, in the Great Hall.’

‘I don’t see him.’ She glanced around once more, her expression filled with anguish.

‘He hasn’t left Skyhold, I can tell you that. He must be somewhere private.’

‘Are you sure, Leliana? Everyone was rushing all over the place when Corypheus attacked.’

 ‘I’m sure he’ll turn up. He wouldn’t just leave. Nobody would shelter him, knowing what he did for that monster.’

Erwin gave such an audible sigh and looked so unhappy it made Leliana throw a curious look at her. So the rumours her little birds had brought her were true? No, it couldn’t be...could it? Her and that...

‘Where’s the sourpuss? Did he flee after Corypheus was turned to ashes?’

‘That’s what we were trying to ascertain.’ The Spymaster answered Dagna.

Erwin excused herself and said she would call it a day. She would need her strength for tomorrow. No doubt her office would be flooded with letters from all over Thedas now that the matter of the Breach and the magister’s looming threat had been resolved.

Leliana watched her walk across the Great Hall with a concerned expression.

‘Is it just me or is she looking forlorn? She should be celebrating. That Anchor is no longer killing her. She’s safe. And a much-beloved hero to the people, now.’ The dwarf commented.

‘She’s alone, Dagna. Very much alone. That can be worse than any Anchor.’ Leliana replied.

 

The Inquisitor threw one last glance at the Great Hall, hoping to see him standing there amidst the crowd...her advisors and companions bowed respectfully back. And none of those faces ever belonged to him. 

...

 

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Erwin climbed the stairs to her quarters. It took all her effort to keep dragging onwards, a sensation that had nothing to do with her previous fight.

The sun was setting in the balcony, casting orange rays in the room that parted the silent penumbra. Still amidst the darkness, she sighted and mused how those quarters were just too large for one person alone.

 She hesitated to walk over to that balcony. She hoped at least once there would be someone with whom to share her most intimate moments. The question that truly hung in the air was: why wasn’t him there?

Maybe he had left. He was a free man, now, and he wouldn’t want to stay with the Inquisition; the people that captured him and brought the great general of Corypheus down to his knees. As a matter of fact, it might even have been dangerous for him if he stayed. Who’s to say what the common folk –or even the soldiers, the families of those who were wounded in battle, who were lost – wouldn’t do to him once the threat that was the magister was gone?

Her disobedient feet ended carrying her to the balcony and her lonely frame cast a very long shadow on the room. How many evenings had she spent there, lost in thought, wandering about the miserly moments of her past and how things would have been different if she had had the courage to stand up? So many nights she begged for a friend, a kindred spirit that would help her out of that private hell, only to have her prayers answered time and again with silence...

The weight of reality and its grey colours began to descend on her, breaking the spell she had been in ever since her goodbye to him. A goodbye she now painfully realized had been her last, without her ever wanting to.

A silent figure emerged from the shadows and his voice was hoarse with overwhelming emotion for seeing her alive...

**_‘Erwin...’_ **

The mere mention of her name by that familiar voice was her undoing. Her heart jolted, her eyes widened and she took a sharp intake of breath. Her whole frame shook slightly and she was so enraptured by the emotion she couldn’t turn around.

Her heart almost stopped at the sound of that low, masculine, deliciously hoarse voice. It always struck a chord within her very core, without her knowing the reason why. She had to steady herself and take a few breaths before staring at him. As her eyes fell upon his lean figure, already in his knight armor, she felt a warm cascade descend upon her and the world was filled with its rich palette of colours once more.

He walked toward her wearing a meek expression. He was paler than usual and had shadows beneath his eyes; he had barely slept while she was away. The glint in his eyes barely hid the fear he felt during those last decisive hours. He feared for her death; for her never returning or worse, becoming the magister’s puppet.

Looking every bit as the knight that rode to the rescue, there he stood in front of her, covered by a silvery ornamented armor, with her favour wrapped around his wrist.

_He hadn’t fled. He hadn’t forgotten her. And she had kept her promise to him._

‘You came back.’ He said in a broken tone, audible as a whisper, afraid to put it into words and somehow make it less true. ‘You...you survived against Corypheus.’

‘I did. Not that it was easy...the Anchor nearly locked me in the Fade with him.’

_Maker, no._

Samson instinctively took a hurried step toward her, his concern showing. Still unsure, he grabbed her forearm, as though to keep her from disappearing before his very eyes. She held his arm in return, meaning to reassure him she wouldn’t go anywhere.

Words became lost in her throat; he was unable to say what he meant, either.

She took the first step.

‘You waited for me.’

His face was etched with a bittersweet pain.

‘You’re all I could think about when you were away.’

His admission lit a warm fire inside her chest, warmth that had been missing for longer than she remembered. She felt the same bittersweet want for him.

‘Now there’s no magister in our way. Or anything else.’ She murmured, searching his eyes. Her sentence was all the reassurance he needed and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

They brought each other closer, leaning in for a much deserved kiss...

‘Your Worship. Urgent message for you. It’s from Commander Cullen.’ Said the messenger, coming upstairs.

‘Oh, Maker be damned.’ Erwin growled in frustration, burying her face in Samson’s chest. ‘Seven hells...Give me a break...’

She heard him utter a torrent of curses under his breath, something about ‘those fucking interruptions seeming to be on purpose’ and wringing unsuspecting people’s necks.

She went to check on the messenger while Samson waited on the balcony. After giving him a couple of instructions, she then ordered for him to convey to her advisors **she did not wish to be disturbed further**. She needed to rest. And then, proceeded to lock the door.

As soon as Erwin returned, Samson hurriedly walked to her, all patience lost.  

‘Twice already, damn it! Enough with these interruptions! Come here.’ He pulled her by the arm and spun her around, encircling her waistline. Without warning, her lips were met with a full-blown kiss. He only caressed her lips with his, but the gesture was long and needy enough to leave her at his mercy.

He searched her eyes, unsure as to whether he had done the right thing. He had been too brash. And yet, it was because he yearned to kiss her again, to shower her with kisses. But would she let him? Would she permit for him to take the next step?

The both of them stood in suspended silence for a second that lasted an eternity. In slow motion, he watched her eyes move from his mouth up to his gaze. And as he had envisioned many weeks before, reality mirrored his dream and she wore a delighted smile. This time, it was her turn to kiss him and she approached him, taking the initiative. He was about to kiss her back, but it was her who held his head gently, a gesture that asked him to let her do this.

He was showered with her mouth’s caresses for at least a full minute – or what in his mind felt like this long – as she tasted and sucked his lips insistently until he surrendered and parted them a bit more. Then, she moved her hands to the back of his neck and massaged the sensitive skin in there ever so delightfully, making circular motions with her fingers. Similar movement did she make with her tongue, entangling it in his own and deepening the kiss.

Whatever reaction Samson expected from her, it was far from this. She practically devoured his mouth without rushing, just taking her time to savour every bit of that first shared kiss. He was so mind blown by her actions, so lost in her caresses, feeling those hands gently stroking his hair that it took him long to realize she was done. Still with eyes shut, he let that feeling of fulfillment linger for a few last delicious seconds before opening them.

‘Blimey. I thought I was the one doing all the seduction here.’

She was as excited as he was, even more as far as he could tell. How long had she been without kissing anyone? Had she ever kissed someone before? She _did_ know what her tongue was doing, he had to give her that, but not everything where women were concerned was the way it appeared to be. Samson had learned that lesson many years ago.

Uncertainty crept in her eyes.

‘I...are you alright with this? I mean...’

He shushed her, delicately placing an index on her lips. There was no need to apologise.

 _You’re concerned with even hurting my manly pride? You are a precious one, my little Erwin._ He thought with fondness.

‘I’m flattered by your attention. This is more than a man like me deserves.’ He admitted.

‘This _is_ what a man like you deserves.’ She said incisively, kissing him again.

He felt his heart flutter.

‘I stand corrected.’ Came the soft reply.

She glanced at the bed and Samson could tell she felt unsure. _So she hadn’t been with a man yet._ Or rather, she did, but from the look on her face, the experience wasn’t what she had expected. It was clear she hadn’t the faintest idea on how to take the lead in **_this_ ** department. Or was unwilling to. Luckily for him, that was something he was quite proficient at.

‘We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.’ He said, bringing her hand close to his chest and intertwining her fingers on his own. His willingness to respect her choice in the matter worked. She felt less indecisive.

‘I **_do_** want to be with you. But to do this now...we’ve just kissed. I don’t want to rush this. I want this to be special.’

That was an answer he never expected. That is, one he never believed would be given, so remote was the possibility she would want something _more_ with him.

His befuddlement was mistaken for disappointment and caused her to worry in return. They were both confused by each other’s reactions.

‘Are you saying...? Erwin, you...?’

‘I...I didn’t mean I’m rejecting you. I mean...Oh, Dear Maker, what am I saying...’ she lowered her gaze, regretting the words that came out of her mouth already.

 _Maker, I’ve never met a woman who felt so awkward about this._ He swallowed.

He slowly approached her and hugged her tenderly, trying to calm her down.

‘I know you want me. As much as I want you. You sucking my mouth like that made your point.’ His joke made her snort. ‘I won’t do anything unless you want me to.’

She turned to look him in the eye, barely believing she was hearing it from a man’s lips. ‘Meaning...?’

‘Meaning you will set the boundaries of our little... ** _dance_**. You tell me to stop, I’ll stop. You tell me to keep going, I’ll keep going.’ He arched an eyebrow and gave a smirk.

He saw her wear that concerned expression again.

‘What if...I’m not sure if we should...dance...at all? At least not until...’

He wore his most wolfish look and his face was etched with smugness.

‘Then we enjoy ourselves with the preliminaries. For as long as you like.’

She could hardly believe he was being so lenient toward the terms of their _arrangement._ Why wasn’t he trying to take advantage of the situation? Any man would. Even him...

_Even him?_

‘Not wanting to sound like a bitch here, but... you would be willing to extend these preliminaries until...’

 _Until you are ready for me?_ He arched an eyebrow.

‘Until you grow fatigued of my caresses and wishes something more of me. Or we can go on like this, even past this point.’ His demeanour changed and he was suddenly serious ‘Erwin, whatever you want this to be, it will be. I...to be honest, I never thought...’ he swallowed, summoning the courage to speak the words that came straight from the heart ‘I never thought for a second that...you would want me for more than fun. A night, desire satisfied and then off you would send me on my way. Or to keep me around as your pet lover.’

Her eyes went wide at his unexpected confession. He felt the need to explain himself.

‘A woman in your position has that prerogative over the men. I had no way to be sure of what you wanted from me. Even tonight, you could’ve just...’

And then she saw him for what he truly was. He was as unsure as to where this was going as she was. But he hoped for so much more...just as she did.

It was her turn to place an index on his lips.

‘I want you to stay with me. Not as my lover; I want your company, Samson. **As the man that you are.** I _need_ it, in fact. It’s not easy to find a man like you. Your kind seems scarce.’

For the first time, she left him speechless. He wondered if she wasn’t seeing too much in him, if she wasn’t deluding herself. Or perhaps she saw him better than he was capable of seeing himself.

His hands rested on the small of her back and she cocked her face to one side, as she always did whenever nurturing tender thoughts about him.

‘We should celebrate your victory over that damn magister. What d’you have in mind?’

‘Is that how you talk about your former employer?’ she mocked.

The memories of his time as Corypheus’ general returned and his expression turned sour.

‘Curse my former employer. Him and that screwed face of his, with all that flesh coming out of his head. Disgusting. That creep still gives me nightmares. I could tell where he was just by that wretched smell of rusty metal. And the damn thing never bathed in his life. If he did, he never scrubbed his parts properly.’ He growled, deeply upset. She burst into laughter.

‘I hope you won’t think of the Inquisitor in a similar way.’

The comment elicited a soft moan from him.

‘When I’m through with you, woman, I’ll let you know.’ And he gave a love bite on her neck, planting a kiss there next.

 

**Later that night...**

 

Samson and Erwin were lying down on her large bed in opposite directions. Both had gotten rid of their armor, with their boots carelessly thrown on the floor. Samson wore a silk shirt unbuttoned and unlaced. His collar and chest hair were visible and Erwin could smell the scent of his body while contemplating his taut, lean figure, quite a masculine sight.

He had also unfastened his belt, and his trousers were held in place only by a miracle. They slid enough to reveal his lower abdomen and what Erwin could clearly see through the opaque fabric of his white shirt as the wild mess of black curls that paved the way to his sex. Once or twice he caught her throwing a glance in that direction, enjoying the pleasure of watching her desire him in silence.

The couple was sipping wine and rolling two funny looking dices on the mattress. Instead of numbers, their sides contained short sentences alternated with single words and questions. Each dice had about twelve sides and had been rolled at least ten times by each of them.

Samson grabbed one of the dices, the one that happened to have landed right under her breast and brought it out of its hideout by flexing his long fingers. He was taking longer to catch it, bumping his hand against her nipple on purpose. Cheeks flushing, Erwin buried her face in her arm to hide her short laugh, enjoying his subtle touches.

‘Slippery dice... I can’t seem to catch the damn thing. Sorry for that, dear.’ He muttered, fondling her nipple with fake annoyance.

He dice finally slipped out of from beneath her breast and he rolled it. The word ‘family’ came out.

‘Hmph.’ Samson let out a disgruntled noise. He meant to pick up the dice and roll it again, but she held his hand in place.

‘Erwin...’ he murmured with concern, but she reassured him it was alright.

He placed his glass on the nightshade, meaning to hear her confession with the attention it deserved. ‘Who do you want to talk about?’

‘Gerald.’

...

 

‘We used to spend our afternoons studying in my grandfather’s office. When our nanny was busy elsewhere, we would escape through the window to play outside. This is how we learned to play the dice game.’

She fondled the pieces on the mattress with a nostalgic smile.

 ‘In those days, we invented absurd tales to each other. The one with the more imaginative story won and got to have less homework to do. So Gerald and I were fierce contestants.’

Samson remained silent, listening attentively.

‘And then, the war was over and we were brought back home. Everything changed. Our father turned life sour for us; he would yell at me and Gerald for the smallest mistakes, while forgiving the worst tantrums our eldest brothers threw. Once George had accidentally killed a pony that belonged to a friend of mine and placed the blame on me. Father knew I couldn’t have done it because I had been studying in my room all day. But he still hit me with his belt and forbade me to have supper for a week. George rubbed that on my face for many years to come, especially in front of friends who came to visit.’

She took another sip of wine; alcohol made those confessions so much easier to make.

‘Gerald and I were kept in separate rooms, so we could barely speak to each other anymore. But my brother wouldn’t have any of his crap. I think he took the risks he took for me because he saw father crack the whip hard on his little sister.’

‘To see a beloved one suffer leads us to acts of heroism we wouldn’t practice for ourselves.’ Samson remarked.

‘My brother was a hero. He risked a severe beating from my father coming to see me in my locked room once the castle was asleep. He brought me bread and water every day. He held my hand through the dog’s door for long minutes until I stopped sobbing.’

‘Rarely father would allow us to talk. Our brothers made sure to interrupt our talks in the courtyard whenever they could. And thus we learned a new way to play our dice game. We arranged for specific places and hours when we wouldn’t be caught together and took turns to confess all the bad things each of us had suffered during the week. Each one earned a hug. That was the prize for the courage of putting pain into words. The confessions made our days easier. Well, not easier. More bearable, without a doubt.’ She concluded, drinking the rest of the wine and wiping a few tears.

Samson approached her, asking where she wanted the next kiss. That was the rule of the lovers’ game.

‘You’ve been such a good listener. I don’t know, I just...’

She was already slightly drunk, smiling for no reason and her eyes were glossed. Would she regret pouring her heart open like this to him in the morning after?

Samson kissed her forehead, then her cheek and then gave her an affectionate smooch that left her wanting more. He retreated to his previous position, only to have his shirt pulled back.

‘I know I’m sexy, but you don’t have to tear my clothes, woman.’

She snorted and let it go with a groan.

As it was Erwin’s turn, she grabbed one of them and let it roll. It landed near his hand. He picked it up to better read the word and muttered “casual sex”. He then threw the dice back on the mattress with an annoyed gesture.

‘What is it?’ she asked, nonchalant.

‘I’ve had loads of it and can safely say I’m more than full. Pfeh. There wasn’t a single woman in Kirkwall who didn’t want to shove her...’ he cleared his throat, avoiding the rude slang in her presence ‘stuff in my face.’

Erwin stared back at him with astonishment. ‘Really?’

Since he had peaked her interest, why not share one of his remembrances with her? But it would be best if it were one of his least sordid affairs.

‘Did you know the matrons of Kirkwall had the habit of sneaking away from their estate at night and go to the Hanged Man?’

‘The what?’

_Common reaction; everyone estranges the name._

‘The most popular tavern there is. Or, there **_was_**. Don’t know what became of it after the civil war.’ He trailed off for a moment before resuming his tale.

According to Samson, he was outside the place, minding his own business as usual, when he heard lots of shouting and fighting inside the tavern. And then, all of a sudden, a long rope made of blankets fell on him. And along with it came a woman, with her head covered by a scarf.

Apparently, she was a prominent noble trying to escape the place after her lover had been captured by her husband’s lackeys. She almost feel on top of him as she landed on the dirty ground. Being the gentleman he was, Samson helped her up and she immediately urged him to help her find a safe place to hide.

‘Did you ask her to pay you first?’

He was surprised at her atypical opportunistic thinking, unusual for someone of noble birth.

‘Why, Inquisitor; spoken like a true street rat. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you knew life in the gutter as well as I. ’

‘Maybe I was the woman in your story; who knows.’ She pulled his leg.

_Maker be damned, she’s really playing along with me. So that’s your real you when you’re comfortable around people?_

‘Did you help her?’

‘I did. Having lived in Lowtown most part of my life, I was used to finding all open windows and dark corners to hide. So I took her to one of my special secluded hideouts and there we stood, in utter silence, until her husband’s men were gone from the streets.’

He sipped a bit of wine, leaving the end of the story in suspension.

‘And?’ Erwin urged him, dying to learn the rest.

‘And then I escorted her safely to her aunt’s home on the other part of the city. Had to silence one or two guards along the way. What one won’t do for a lady... once she was safe and sound, I meant to leave after receiving a modest amount of sovereigns from her aunt...but she threw a plushie at me to catch my attention once she saw me in the street. And then, threw a rope made of blankets from her window...’

He sipped more wine and concluded:

‘She said she wanted to thank me profusely for saving her from the clutches of that evil man. I couldn’t refuse. So, to answer your question, yes, she did pay me; but only later. And with interest. It was worth every risk I undertook.’ He smirked, throwing his arms behind his back.

Erwin screwed her face, not knowing what to make of that story. Unless she was mistaken, she had the feeling he was pulling her leg.

‘You just made this up, didn’t you?’ her eyes twinkled.

‘I did not.’ He replied with mock hurt. She snorted.

‘Yes, you did. You’re making this shit up.’

‘Milady, what language you have. Mind your etiquette.’ He played along, faking indignation. She snorted again, clearly drunk.

‘Shut up.’ She let out a short laugh.

‘What was that, now?’

‘I’ll say what I want.’ She teased, and then told him to fuck off between laughs.

He muttered ‘foulmouthed smartass’ under his breath and pretended to sulk, satisfied his little tale had made her relax.

...

 

They drank their wine enjoying the comfortable silence. All of a sudden, he heard her burst into laughter. Apparently, the joke was hilarious, because she couldn’t stop.

‘What is it?’ he asked in a puzzled tone.

She managed to say ‘Varric’ before losing control again.

‘Well, I guess that clears it up, then.’ He replied in a casual tone. She made an effort to sober up.

‘During the fight against Corypheus, Dorian, for Maker knows what reason, got to peek under...under his skirt. It was an accident; some spell he cast threw Corypheus off his feet.’

‘Hm.’ He waited for her to regain control and resume the joke.

‘Then, as I finally used the Anchor against him, Dorian commented something to Varric about the Magister using striped socks up to his knees and high heel boots.’

‘Indeed? Now that’s news to me. I never pictured him to be the sort to enjoy such fancy tricks.’ He commented nonchalantly.

‘Varric then retorted asking what in seven hells he was doing gawking under the enemy’s skirt. They were in the middle of a life and death battle and all he could think was to get a peek at Corypheus’s genitals.’

‘Maker’s breath. Truly a horrid sight to behold.’ Samson took another sip of wine. She carried on.

‘Dorian, of course, was offended, and retorted that was the sort of obscenity he expected Varric to utter. Later, he added Corypheus was really not his type. And said: besides, I find his taste in clothes most appalling. Varric then commented: yeah, I guess I don’t picture you as the sort who enjoys the company of men with genital warts.’

Samson choked on his wine and had to clean his mouth to avoid staining the sheets.

‘I didn’t even know they were talking about that behind me. I mean, there I was, desperately trying to kill this fiend, this creature that just couldn’t die, praying that my power would be enough to heal the skies and the two of them were just chatting about his poor taste in clothes and his supposed genital warts.’ She burst into laughter again.

‘I can’t imagine that going into the History books. It’s not very heroic, if you know what I mean. People might get the wrong idea about the Inquisition.’ He took another sip, glad that she was enjoying herself.

 ‘Rather a funny sort, this Dorian companion of yours. Peeking beneath other men’s skirts. Thank the Maker I’m not a Magister.’ he offered to refill her glass.

‘But you were a templar.’ She teased with a knowing look and then burst into roaring laughter again.

‘Why, you little...’

He landed the bottle on the nightshade and positioned himself on top of her, tickling her sides.

‘You think it’s funny to disrespect the templars?’ ‘Huh?  Just because you’re the almighty Inquisitor?’ ‘You think it’s alright to make fun of a bunch of men just because they wear skirts?’ he asked with mock seriousness, tickling her vigorously. Her laughter was so loud he bet it could be heard two stores below ‘I’ll show you what happens to those who lack the proper respect.’

She tried to hold him at arm’s length, laughing hysterically as he bent to tickle her in places she had never been tickled before. Samson kept making idle threats that elicited nonstop laughter from her, mocking her position as Inquisitor, her victory over the red templars and her pretense presumptuousness.

 When he was done, she had tears swarming in her gleaming eyes and her cheeks were flushed. She looked back at him, seeming satisfied and panting a lot. There it was. Her true face. The one she couldn’t show to the world out of principle.

One moment, the two of them were in opposite sides of the bed. Now, Samson was practically on top of her, touching her body parts unafraid of rejection and without needing to ask her permission. He combed her long fringe out of the way and without warning, bent over and planted an impetuous kiss in her half parted lips. Unsure, he drew back, watching the reaction in her eyes. She closed them and parted her lips even more.

He obeyed her unspoken command and delighted her with more kisses, sliding his body on top of hers and feeling her whole and warm beneath him. The stupor provoked by the wine and the slight chill outside multiplied the pleasure of that intimate moment by tenfold. Neither he, nor her were quite themselves, letting go of all inhibitions and delighting in allowing their desires to take over.

It had been a long time since Samson wanted to be alone with that woman; not for immediate sexual gratification, as he so easily found in the filthiest taverns of Kirkwall. But for something more. A rare kind of intimacy that could only be found with one kind of woman in the world. The rarest of all.

As he searched her lips at each pause, he found she sought his back, kissing him in return. To want and be wanted was a sensation he had been too long without. Occasional tears of joy cascaded from her eyes. She was in much need of this as he was.

Her arms encircled him, keeping him close to her, just as he had pictured in that delicious dream so many nights ago. She let him taste her as much as he wanted, following his motion and returning his kisses. She subtly slid a leg from beneath him. As he kissed her, he felt her rub it quite slowly against his thigh. It was sending shivers down his body and arousing something primitive within. Soon enough, he felt himself harden.

With a wolfish look, he muttered in her ear in a deep voice: ‘You’re lucky I’m so drunk, or I wouldn’t have the mind to control myself.’

‘Only because we kissed?’

He smiled at her naive question. _Oh, he was going to show her. She had no idea._

He raised his torso a little, keeping his lower body pressed against her. Biting his lower lip, he rubbed his hard cock against the soft warmth between her legs in slow and deliberate motions. The sheer ecstasy provoked by that friction made her shudder involuntarily and she shut her eyes, letting a moan escape. The heat between their legs was unbelievable.

‘This is what awaits you.’ He whispered in her ear in his huskiest voice ever, returning to his previous position. He could feel her heart hammering in her chest and heard her panting. Her body was now even warmer, almost feverish.

_So he had that much effect on her? Good. He would tease her many times from now on, building her desire as the days passed by until she begged for the final takeover._

**A few moments later...**

 

He watched her chest rise and fall, soft snores leaving her throat; a sweet purring noise that made him think of a kitten. Taking care not to wake her up, he removed the empty glass from her grip and placed it on one of the nightstands.

One by one, he picked the dices. As his gaze fell on the runes inscribed in the sides, his mind relived the little game he and Erwin played. She didn’t know, but those shared moments would forever remain precious to him.

He placed the dices next to the glass and corked the bottle. He then got up from the bed and turned off the lamp...

A groan was emitted by the sleeping figure. Her silhouette shifted ever so subtly in the dark.

He had promised her. He had promised on his honour to stay.

In all his years as a knight-templar, Samson never broke a promise.

He went back to bed, pulled the sheets and covered her clumsily with them. He picked a pillow and slid it under her head. With his fingers, he moved the strands of hair away from her pale face.

She was sleeping with her feet turned to the headboard. Kirkwallers were highly superstitious. One believed sleeping in an inverted position was a bad omen.

‘Well...I hope I don’t wake up dead. Or missing any of my limbs.’

He ignored his fears and picked a pillow for himself, lying down beside her. Even heavily drunk, he felt his arms tremble as he slid one of them under hers to rest it over her waist. He could feel the soft texture of her breasts through the silk shirt; his thumb slid beneath one of them before he could hold back the urge to touch her and he heard her moan in her sleep.

It sent shivers down his abdomen and awoke his primitive instincts. He could feel his member hardening in response. Thank the Maker he was so tired and inebriated; otherwise, he would be forced to leave before doing something foolish.

He gingerly moved his hips until he was against her warmth and felt his member touch her smooth bottom. She must have been fast asleep, for she didn’t react. Even so, he didn’t dare move too much, afraid he might wake her up. He rose his torso and planted a kiss on her cheek, moving close to her mouth and planting another one in the corner of her lips, and then another.

‘My dear Erwin... no one will do you harm. Not while I’m by your side.’

With a last kiss, he slid back in position, holding her close. Winter promised to be harsh, but the warmth between them would keep the frost at bay. Samson drifted to sleep earlier that night, not suffering from insomnia in a long time; longer than he cared to remember. His eyes closed with the sight of her brown hair imprinted in his memory and the smell of her shampoo in his nostrils. There was nothing in the world but Erwin.

And with that last notion, he welcomed the numbness of sleep, safe in the knowledge that, tomorrow, a new life awaited for him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Afterword
> 
> Recently, there were many people who have shown their appreciation for the story on the Archivist’s blog (http://magearchivist.tumblr.com). I’d like to thank all who have liked, commented and/or shared NoRS. Your feedback is the main reason that makes writing feel so worthwhile! 
> 
> Samson is a relatively minor character, which is why it’s so difficult to gather people’s attention to any work related to him. I’ve noticed it’s usually the smut that makes the most success out there. Usually there are around 300 to 600 hits to an average smut with Samson. That's approximately 4 times the number of hits NoRS managed to obtain. But even so, judging from the positive response the story has generated so far, it has managed to please the character’s fans. Nothing could leave the author happier!
> 
> I hope more people will start following his redeeming endeavour and reccomend the story. There are more Samson fans out there than the DA fanbase thinks. With their help, the story will be told and live to see characters such as: Abelas, Alistair, Cullen, Dorian, the Hero of Ferelden, Kieran, Loghain, Morrigan, Solas, Sten and many others make their appearance. 
> 
> The general plot for the upcoming Arcs is ready. The Seven Chosen Magisters who caused the First Blight and the remaining Archdemons’ conundrum will figure largely; the OGB (Old God Baby) theme will be important as well. There will be a correlation with the Elven Pantheon. Mysteries from before the Rise of Tevinter will be revealed. And the Fall of Arlathan will serve as a cautionary tale. 
> 
> Now all that’s left is the opportunity to put those ideas on paper. Given time and with your help, hopefully more readers will take an interest and NoRS will go on until the Fifth Arc (it even has a title, already. *chuckles*). 
> 
> Thank you for your patronage and I hope I can count on your support for joining me on the 2nd Arc!


	6. The Wolf and the Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Second Arc]
> 
> The threat brought upon by Corypheus is over. Thedas is once more a land free of a great evil and begins the slow process of rebuilding.  
> Months have passed ever since. The Inquisition is now a prominent institution, one that has reshaped allegiances all over the Southern kingdoms.  
> As Emperor Gaspard grows restless, the truce between Ferelden and Orlais might meet a premature end. Diplomatic relationships have become fractured overtime. Overwhelmed by the aggressive posture of the Empire, King Alistair will turn toward the Inquisitor to avoid an expansionist war.  
> As everyone’s attention is turned toward the fragile state of politics, it is left for the Grey Wardens to deal with the newest threat looming in the horizon... 
> 
> [Chapter 6 Summary]
> 
> In which the Inquisitor finds a man she can trust and Samson finds a way to please his beloved saviour in more ways than one. As life goes on after Corypheus’ defeat, Skyhold might be too small a place for the wolf and the lion to coexist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the chapter's length, it's been divided in 7 parts.
> 
> The wolf and the lion refers to 2 pairs of characters who are rivals and settle their differences, as you're about to discover. 
> 
> Screenshots of Samson in the header were found on Tumblr and on the Samson thread in the BSN Forum and were made by various people. Only the editing work belongs to me.

 

 

**1.**

 

Samson groaned in his sleep, his leg twitching due to his agitated state. He was having his first nightmare after so many weeks of a blissful and uneventful life.

He was in the countryside, standing in an open space. A storm was forming ahead. Beneath the earth, veins of a pulsating red coursed freely, corrupting the soil with its destructive magic. He crouched and his hand touched the red. His fingers scrapped the hard surface of the mineral. There was only one substance in Thedas like that: red lyrium in its rawest form.

Slowly, the red rivers slithered all the way heading North toward a distant landscape. As he raised his eyes, he noticed a dark shadow befell on the horizon and it had now turned black, with barely visible shaded constructions. And amongst the darkness, he saw the silhouette of a tall inhuman being rising amidst what he now discerned to be a grand city.

The lyrium rose through his gigantic body and crystallized on his head, forming the image of a distorted red crown. He then raised his hands to the air in a gesture of triumph and tremors shook the earth. Samson watched as the city around him crumbled until it was reduced to ruins.

The dark king pointed to several directions and the lyrium obeyed as though it were alive. It now spread throughout the world, delivering its corruption to fauna and flora alike, turning people and animals into statues of red stone.

Around him, all life had almost been consumed by the mineral when the king in the North raised his right hand toward the sky. And at his command, it tore open. Demons flooded from the widening scar. With a terrified expression, Samson’s eyes contemplated the ghastly image of the great nothingness lying within...the place in the Fade where none dared to venture, mage and magister alike: its dark heart, the Black City.

The taint had now covered the entire surface. The few survivors of the king’s assault were turned into darkspawn. They fought and devoured each other as a black snow fell from the breach in sky, threatening to bury the world with it.

 As the king stretched his arm in a greedy motion to touch it, a discreet movement near Samson caught his attention. As the king was distraught by what the sky promised, he stared at the ground. A single human rose from a pool of corruption, untouched and unblemished. A young man, no older than eighteen.

He touched the nearest darkspawn and the creature stopped snarling at him. Eyes and mouth wide open, he seemed to wake from a long nightmare and stared at his corrupted body with fright. Another touch and the corruption began to vanish from his features, cleansed by some miracle.

The boy turned to look at Samson and placed his index over his lips, a gesture that asked for his silence. He and the former darkspawn then followed the boy as he cured the creatures they met along the way, carefully advancing toward the Breach. Each one he healed started to follow him, and soon, an army of half human, half monsters followed their leader, marching through a tainted world.

With the king still distracted by the sight above him, the young man turned to Samson one last time and pointed toward the Black City. His intent was clear. But before he could ask the mysterious youth how he intended to make the journey, the landscape dissolved and Samson woke up, feeling a woman’s gentle touch on his face.

 

...

 

‘It’s alright, my love...I’m with you, Samson...’ he recognised Erwin’s voice.

She had gently awoken him with soft caresses. As he reluctantly opened his eyes, the woman he came to call his own was embracing him, planting smooches on his half-parted lips. Her palm slid up and down his face and head many times over, combing his hair. They were so close he could smell her body’s familiar fragrance, and it helped him to relax.

  He tried to speak, but the words failed him as he attempted to describe his...what was that? A dream? A nightmare? A _vision_?

_Only mages had visions. And having the power of the Sight was a rare gift._

‘It’s alright. I was just dreaming with...damn, I don’t even know what that was supposed to be.’

‘Bad dream?’

‘Yeah.’ He murmured. ‘But not bad for me.’

His memory eluded him as he tried to find words to describe what he saw. The images faded rapidly from his mind. Once he was finished, Erwin looked every bit concerned.  

‘You dreamt about the red lyrium spread. And a tall king in the North. Someone who could control the red lyrium. But no one has that power. Not even Corypheus did...’

He sunk his head in the pillow.

_Great job, Samson. It must be four a.m. and you’ve woken up your woman to tell her about your fucked up dream. And now she’s worried and won’t go back to sleep. She’ll think you’re going crazy or something, will probably figure you need more treatment and send you back to that hyperactive dwarf, so that she may fuss over you for the next week or so._

‘Hey. Forget about it. C’mere.’ He pulled her by the arm in one slow motion and held her close, snuggling.

But Erwin’s mind was still working on the description of the dream. Perhaps it was an after effect of Dagna’s treatment? Hallucinations or something worse? Or did the images carry a deeper meaning? He had dreamt with magic, after all... A magic which involved the taint and the Black City... She thought about Loghain’s warnings concerning the darkspawn numerous attacks underground and how they were becoming out of control. This couldn’t be mere coincidence.

‘C’mon. It’s still dark out there. And cold. You’ve got a few hours till daybreak. And you’ve got me to keep you warm for the rest of the night. Besides, you don’t want to wake up a mess, now, do you?’

She smiled and allowed herself to shut her eyes, feeling his arms and legs all around her, enveloping her so lovingly, as if Samson was holding tight to the one thing in the world that was most dear to him.

 

* * *

 

**2.**

 

The first rays of morning came through the tight-shut windows, urging the couple to wake up. Samson had finally managed to not fall from bed once in his lifetime, a clear sign the quality of his sleep was beginning to improve, despite that horrendous dream with those disgusting creatures.

_Fuck darkspawn, fuck magisters. I just want my wife._

_‘My wife...’_ he murmured, still slightly unconscious, unaware that he and Erwin were still not married.

He realised the absurdity that had crawled out of his mouth and was startled, fearing her reaction. Slowly she turned to him and said: ‘You’re the first man I know who is more eager to marry than the woman.’

He let out an apologetic laugh and slapped himself mentally. He had almost mistaken the two women. Erwin couldn’t know about that part of his life. Not yet.

She gazed at him adoringly and fondled that scrawny beard. It had been years ever since she had been that close to a man. She then snuggled up to him, breathing deep his masculine scent and kissing the curve of his neck. Her arm encircled him and soon she was on top of him, kissing him deeply as she let her hand travel all over his torso.

When their eyes met, he couldn’t help but think she looked like a happy puppy who had just received a new toy from her master. Or rather, a happy bunny, given her feminine curves.

‘C’mere.’ He slid to the side and started kissing her deeply, tongue clashing with tongue. His hands were warm and strong as they descended to her waist, squeezing her firmly there. When she let out a moan, he let it travel even further south, fondling her bum.

Without thinking, she lifted her leg and his fingers found their way to her sex...

‘Samson...’ she murmured, warning him.

‘Do you trust me?’ he asked ever so meekly, stopping all motion and searching her eyes while his own begged the question.

His demeanour was so humble she couldn’t help but feel he would keep his word. So far, everything in this man pointed out to a stable and loyal character; hadn’t he helped the templars keep some semblance of purpose and unity, even if the way he did so was horribly questionable? And hadn’t he proven his obedience to her during their dangerous mission to shut down the smugglers’ operation?

His hand resting expectantly against her mass of brown curls, she finally replied ‘alright.’

Samson tried very hard not to let his lips open into a wide smile and just smirked instead, proceeding to minister a proper massage to her down there; a little something he learned during his years in Kirkwall, when his techniques made sure women kept coming back to him...

As he fondled her, he kept planting kisses on her abdomen and torso. The constant friction of his palm had warmed her up and she was now moaning without being aware. He felt the first spot of wetness from her knickers and proceeded to stick his hand inside them, teasing her clit with his index.

Once he touched her without any impediments on the way, she felt an invisible barrier between them was shattering. The direct contact of flesh on flesh awoke something primitive in her. She thought it would be unpleasant, that he would not know how to move his finger in the right way.

How very mistaken she was.

Her face contorted in a thousand expressions as her moans grew louder, reverberating through the walls. Her hand clasped tightly around his arm like a claw as he fiddled her clit. Samson was a dextrous manipulator, his finger moving from one side to another, up and down, teasing her in circular motions, building her arousal.

She was on the verge of climax when he ceased all motion and removed his finger. She groaned in protest, but what he did next impressed her. He kissed her abdomen and kept going downwards until he was face deep in her curls. She was going to ask what did he think he was doing, but the next words got caught in her throat as he licked her labia and sucked her clit. It was enough to shun all rational thought from her mind.

He licked her clit voraciously now and the pleasure was sent rippling through her body as tiny waves of ecstasy compounded on each other. Her breath was sharper and he felt her shiver to his tongue’s strokes. He could feel her warming up and swelling like a red flower. Her smell had changed and he caught her strong scent right under his nose. It aroused him even more.

Samson gave her sex an impetuous full-blown kiss, sucking and kissing her clit repeatedly. It made her shiver and she let out a shaky moan. He sucked again and grabbed her waist, forcing her legs apart with his arms to avoid them closing suddenly and smashing his head.

He began moving his tongue in a steady rhythm, moving his face up and down, stopping from time to time to suck with force. The soft, punctual caresses were replaced by a strong, constant motion that threatened to overwhelm her. The sensation was so intense that Erwin turned her face downwards for a second to see just what was he doing to her.

The sight of Samson with his face buried in her sex, hungrily stocking her clit with his lips tightly pressed against her body met her eyes. A gasp and a cry escaped her throat and signalled for him to intensify the caresses.

Her whole body shivered as he pushed himself hard against her sensitive spot; loud moans left her throat and she felt the sheer pressure of accumulated arousal, like a cork seeking release from a bottle of champagne. Tears of joy cascaded from her eyes; her mouth was agape, letting out a ragged breath. His arms firmly holding her in place kept her from closing her legs; she was at his mercy, and he was mercilessly causing her undoing.

He gave one, long suck and it was enough to cause her to orgasm. Her cry of ecstasy signalled him he had to keep going. He sucked her hungrily once more and resumed his tongue’s caresses, frictioningthe clit so intensely he made her shiver all over.

This went on for almost a whole minute, with her orgasm prolonged thanks to his incessant tongue work. She was fully open to him, relishing in how he devoured her pussy without shame. When he was done, she began to fill the pangs of pain from her clit suffering so much friction. Samson planted a last loving kiss on her sex and slid on top of his woman, eager to look at her expression of relief after that long session of delightful oral stimulation.

‘Nothing like a good scrubbing in the morning, eh?’ he suggested with a foolish smirk, making her snort and laugh.

She wanted to tell him how he had made her feel alive, but her breath wouldn’t steady itself. She was still overwhelmed by all the strong sensations he had provoked on her.

‘Can’t even speak, huh?’ he smooched her.  ‘Was I that good?’

‘Conceited.’

A large smile played on his lips. ‘I have reason to be. Fair lady should have seen her own face as I worked out my fingers on her.’ 

He gesticulated profane gestures with them in mid air and she tried to make him stop. He evaded her grasp and tickled her like the night before. Her booming laughter followed right after. He then lay on top of her once more and snuggled up to her, kissing her neck and face as his hands traveled through her body.

‘My Erwin...my beautiful Erwin...’ he whispered in her ear, his voice brimming with affection.

She closed her eyes and held him tightly against her, entangling her fingers in his black mane. He turned his face to her and she held his head, kissing him ever so lovingly. She then tenderly rubbed her nose in his.

‘My man...’ she kissed his forehead and murmured: ‘I love you, Samson.’

They rolled on the bed and resumed their kisses and caresses until he could feel her hands slide down to his waist, going ever south.

‘Here, let me show you...’

Ever patient, Samson guided her hands to his hard cock; he was so aroused it sprung from his pants before she had removed them.

She was a good learner and eager to return the favour. He combed her hair with his fingers as she pleasured him with more enthusiasm than he anticipated. After that talk of feeling insecure last night, he expected her to shy away. But it seems his willingness to go down on her had stripped her of her natural modesty.

His breathing was coming out in rhythmic stances in accordance to the strokes of her hands. He began to clutch her waist, feeling the first contractions and the heat rise. The friction in her hands increased and she used one hand to fondle his testicles.

His groans intensified and she concentrated on her hand job. More than anything, she wanted to make him come; to see his face contort in an expression of delight and to know for sure she was capable of satisfying him the way he had done to her.

The heat between her hands was unbelievable. His grasp on her waist was a bit painful, but she said nothing. His other hand moved to her breast, greedily fondling her and she played along, letting out small moans. He then moved it to her sex and started fondling her there. One of her legs was already over his own. She felt his palm friction against her pussy and this time she indeed moan from pleasure.

Their mutual caresses flared her excitement even more and she intensified the hand job, making Samson moan louder. She approached her face from his and kissed him as she could, both moaning together as they were enraptured by the ecstasy.

His loud moans made her speed up the pace, increasing the pent up tension in his already hard cock. His lips trembled as he growled as well, resembling a feral wolf. She had awoken the most primitive side of him. His face contorted as she pumped his member.

When he opened his eyes, there was a ferocity in them that wasn’t there before and his irises were lit like a flame. His moans came straight from his throat now and he gave long breaths as he held his mouth agape. His hand slid from her sex to her thigh and then her bum. Without warning, he slapped one of her buttocks, deriving secret satisfaction. She gasped and lifted her head to stare at him. He was wearing the most wolfish smile she had ever seen.

He fondled her pussy again, pleasuring her until she was lost in the moment and raised his hand to slap her buttock again. This little game of his was leaving her pretty excited; he completely lost all inhibition and approached her.

With her hands still pumping his cock, he raised his torso, tangling his body with hers so as to give love bites on her shoulder. He alternated them with kisses, all the while sliding his hand over her waist and butt. As he bit her once, he slapped her buttock again, groaning after she gasped.

Maker forgive her, she was _enjoying_ this.  

She pressed his shaft a bit harder...and then, he finally came.

He gasped and released a much suppressed cry, shivering from head to foot. She felt his warm spunk soil her between the thighs, but she didn’t stop. She would bring him to full orgasm. Her motions remained every bit as intense as when she started until liquid stopped flowing from his sex and he gave his last gasp. He moaned softly, letting out a deep breath and his expression showed how relaxed he was.

She combed his hair and planted kisses all over his face. ‘Much better now, eh?’ He nodded sheepishly, closing his eyes with a deeply relieved sigh.

‘Thank the Maker you remembered to lock your door last night. The smell of sex in this room cannot be measured. I can’t even imagine the look on your advisors’ face if they stumbled on us by accident.’

‘Leliana wouldn’t mind, I suppose.’ She admitted.

‘That one doesn’t mind much. Or almost. She’s got one of those looks. She’s been around and seen a lot. Done a lot, too, maybe. These things, I can tell, though it’s none of my business to comment.’ He said, nonchalantly.

‘You’re a good judge of character.’

‘I know what people like to hide.’ He replied meekly. How many times did the denizens of Kirkwall use him to do unsavoury work that would ruin someone’s reputation should it come to light?

Speaking of which, Kirkwall was the city of secrets. And even having spent ten years there, he had only learned a small portion of what its citizens with the most sterling reputation kept behind closed doors and barred windows.

‘What about Josephine?’

‘Who? Oh.’ He remembered her now. ‘That one keeps her nose buried for too long in parchments and too little in other people’s business. One look at us, sharing a bed, naked like the day we were born and she might not survive the sight.’ He gave a short laugh.

‘And Cullen?’

Samson’s smile vanished from his face. He creased his forehead and let out a deep breath.

‘I’m nothing but a degenerate to your Commander. And forever will be. Tsk, what does that runt know? Make no mistake, Erwin; in his mind, there’s no place for a man like me in your life.’

‘Because I’m _the Inquisitor_.’

His words managed to leave her concerned. He hugged her tighter.

‘And they would support him, you know?’

‘They, who?’

‘The people under your command. Your people.’

He knew she shared his worries on the matter. But it was up to her how to resolve this impasse. He was her subordinate from now on; a knight sworn to her service. And even though he had quite proven himself in the raid to catch the smugglers, the Inquisition had only heard of his deeds. To them, he was still the odd element in the equation.

If word got out the Captain of her personal guard and the Inquisitor were bedding each other and Erwin didn’t give some satisfaction to her advisors and allies, rumours could prematurely destroy their relationship before it had time to blossom.

‘I’m not losing you because of gossip born from ignorance. And stupidity.’

She hung her head, visibly upset. He moved his hands from her waist to below her breasts, massaging her while he showered her neck with kisses. She was tense. He then hugged her from behind before letting his hands travel all over her skin. As he moved his palms towards her lower abdomen, she gave in and threw her head back, resting her face against the curve of his neck, breathing in his scent.

‘You’re staying with me; no one can tell me who I sleep with.’

‘That IS your prerogative.’ He murmured so close to her, staring lovingly at her glinting eyes. ‘And what about the men under my command? Wouldn’t it look bad if the Inquisitor were rumored to bed her Captain? Someone is bound to notice something. What if they grow suspicious?’

She pondered before giving her answer. ‘I’ll let my advisors know, so they’ll dissuade the rumours as they surface.’

Samson stared at her, dumbstruck. ‘You’ll let them know now? So soon? Don’t you want to ponder this a bit more carefully?’

He sensed her hesitation. ‘This does sound crazy, doesn’t it? But who else would I romance?’

‘A fancy prince? Or an influential politician? The sort that benefits the Inquisition?’ he suggested.

‘That’s what people would expect.’ She admitted.

There was a pause as Samson considered an idea and said tentatively: ‘I wouldn’t mind if you did. You could still go on with me. Your future suitor wouldn’t have to know.’

She lowered her head, pondering his words. Samson was a very down-to-earth man. Unlike most young, idealistic men, he was well aware of what her job demands were. If it came to that, if an alliance through marriage was the only way to save the Inquisition sometime in the future against an overwhelming threat...

‘I know it’s expected of me to put the Inquisition’s interest ahead at the top of my list of priorities...’

‘And you wouldn’t be a good Inquisitor if you did otherwise.’ He complemented.

‘But I won’t take any unnecessary actions for now. Until the times does come for me to fulfill that duty, I’d rather go on with this... ’

 ‘Affair.’ He said.

‘Relationship.’ She said.

They had spoken at the same time.

Samson cast a surprised glance back at her, looking pleased. ‘Really?’

Her eyes shone with that familiar golden tone in response. ‘I would consider this to be nothing less.’

He quirked an eyebrow, giving her that wolfish look he reserved especially for her.

‘So... sounds like I’ve got the Inquisitor at my mercy. My, my...what’s to become of her?’ Samson’s hand dived between her legs again and his long fingers proceeded to caress her sex. He gave her a full-blown kiss, tongues playing with each other in a delightful dance as he pulled her back to bed.

 

* * *

 

**3.**

 

Cullen had just received Leliana’s latest memo. His mind burned with the implications of what the report revealed. He had been waiting for a chance to talk to the Inquisitor ever since, but she had specifically requested to not be disturbed.

He paced in his office back and forth. Truth be told, the issue that was troubling him was far from politics. Erwin had made that traitor Lieutenant in his army. She hadn’t even bothered to consult with him in the first place. And she was perfectly aware of what his feelings were toward that filthy degenerate.

Three hours had passed since the official start of day. Erwin should’ve already been up by now...

‘Sod it all! This cannot wait.’ He marched toward the main hall, memo held in hand. He didn’t care if she was still asleep or getting dressed. He would confront her about Samson’s nomination before it was too late for him to put a stop to it.

 

...

 

‘You’re doing it wrong.’ He teased her.

‘You keep moving your head, darling.’ She said with a laugh.

He felt her slid the razor ever so delicately on the side of his face once again.

‘Are you sure you’ve done this before?’ he loved to provoke her.

‘Do you trust me?’ she mimicked his words not from too long ago.

‘Oh, fuck off. That was different.’ He said, accidentally ingesting a bit of shaving cream. He had to cough real hard to get it out of his throat.

‘That’s the Maker punishing you for your blasphemy.’ she replied, holding her laugh.

‘He should punish you for the heresy you’re committing with that razor right now. On my face.’ He managed to say, still hoarse and pointing to the razor.

He straightened himself and adjusted her on his lap, giving her bum a friendly slap as he ordered her to keep shaving him. She was facing him as she sat with her legs spread wide, working on his scrawny beard.

She was barely finishing when several knocks hit the door and the Commander’s muffled voice shouted her name from the other side.

‘Sounds like he might tear it down. You’d better go see what he wants.’

She motioned for the missing part yet to be shaved, but he gesticulated for her to go. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

Samson finished shaving and took care of the rest of his morning hygiene, putting on his boots. He buttoned his trousers and searched everywhere for his shirt, but it wasn’t in the bathroom.

The Commander’s voice became louder as he walked down the corridor toward the office. ‘...and the troops receive a specific training that cannot be neglected. We need men that can pass along that discipline. And we cannot do that if you just name anyone to key positions.’

Erwin sounded annoyed. ‘You’re aware as well as I that most soldiers have a very loose training, Cullen. We had to build the Inquisition by recruiting people from all over the place. We’re not the Orlesian army.’

‘No, we aren’t. But the Inquisition will now have to start acting like a reference to other institutions if we are to maintain our strong image.’ He insisted.

‘This hardly concerns the conscription of **_one_** lieutenant, Cullen.’ She calmly replied.

‘Even so, that’s no excuse to...’

Cullen stopped dead upon seeing Samson’s sudden arrival.

‘Commander.’ He said, containing his usual sarcasm. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’ He motioned to the bed. ‘Just came to pick up my shirt.’

‘Samson.’ The other replied, tensely.

The Commander followed the man with his eyes, staring at his half naked figure with disapproval. His torso was fully exposed, his shirt was lying on Erwin’s bed and he had recently shaven. This was worse than his worst suspicions.

As soon as he was fully dressed, Samson walked up to the Inquisitor and cupped her face, eyeing her lovingly before giving her a full-blown kiss.

‘I don’t think the Commander wants me around for whatever he has to say. I’ll come back later, my love.’

He kissed her hand and passed by the Commander without a word, refusing to lower his gaze. He walked down the flight of steps and began humming an old tune that fresh templar recruits used to when they were having a good day. 

Samson remained outside the door for about ten minutes hearing the discussion. Erwin refused to back from her position. He had to give it to her: she was very good with words. Cullen was in trouble if he thought he would convince her to change her mind.

‘Are you mad? Do you even know what this looks like?’

‘Careful, Commander. Who I sleep with is my problem.’

‘From the moment you start sleeping with the enemy, it’s no longer yours alone.’

‘He’s not the enemy. Samson earned his place in the Inquisition by combating the smugglers. The men know of his bravery and service to us.’

‘You can’t be serious! One fight and he’s got a clean slate? Do you honestly think the soldiers will accept this?’

‘As I understand it, many of them have had colourful lives before joining us. Do we question them once they’ve proven their worth and committed to our cause?’

Samson unglued his ear from the door. He had heard enough.

‘Oh, boy; the Commander has no idea of the size of the headache she is going to give him. I bet he misses Meredith by now.’ And with that last thought, he marched to the main hall, heading to the barracks. His eager recruits awaited their Captain to start their training.

...

 

As soon as Cullen left the office, she caught herself pondering about Samson’s strange dream. She could write to Vivienne and ask her opinion. Certainly a mage knew better about those matters. But the Black City, the taint, darkspawn... no, this was not the specialty of the Circle. Of any Circle, for that matter.

And the Wardens never told anything relevant to the lower ranks. Hadn’t Loghain described his difficulty to reach Weisshaupt? She couldn’t write a letter to them and expect a reply soon enough.

If she wanted to know more about it, she would have to seek someone who was familiar with that universe. She wasn’t sure if the person she had in mind would actually be versed in that particular branch of magic, but if anything, having lived in the land that suffered the terror of the First Blight, he was closest to that universe than any other mage.

 

**In the library...**

Alexius voice carried through the halls.

‘He should not be having these dreams, Inquisitor. Don’t you understand? He’s no mage. He’s got no magical abilities. He shouldn’t be able to see past the mundane in his mind.’ He shut the book in his hand with one swift movement.

 ‘These dreams are not coincidence.’

He snorted. ‘Of course they’re not!’

She took a step toward him. ‘Then, how do you explain them? I thought you’d have a theory, Alexius.’

He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Why come to me with this when you have Fiona or that Orlesian Enchanter at your service? Er, what’s her name again? Violet?’

Erwin stared back in disbelief. ‘You want me to praise Tevinter magic?’

Alexius faked an indignant reaction. ‘Me? Why? Should we Tevinters expect anything from you Southerners other than scorn? You think we’re all blood mages who sacrifice virgins to the Old Gods. You’re nothing but barbarians.’

As he threw that insult, he was actually smiling at her. And as it happened, she was working hard not to allow her lips to twist into one of her own. But she was failing miserably.

‘You stuck up, snobbish, classicist magister.’ She said with satisfaction.

‘I beg your pardon?’

She raised her head proudly.

‘You don’t deceive me. You’re as curious to learn where Samson’s visions are coming from as I am. Even more, I would guess, since that’s your department.’

Alexius pretended to check his manicure. ‘Oh, am I now? I’ve been so busy assisting these mages with their research I haven’t got time for anything else.’ He turned his back to her, pretending to search for another book.

She sighed, conceding defeat. ‘Alright. What is it that you want?’

He stopped and turned, facing her with a satisfied expression.

‘I cannot work with the books you have here. Interesting as the research of your scholars is, it is insufficient to even scrape the surface of what I’ll be studying. To better understand your companion’s visions, Inquisitor, I need specific material. **Very** specific.’

Erwin guessed this was about some kind of magic the Chantry would have frowned upon. The implications for the Inquisition as an institution could be dead serious. Should word spread that she had authorised forbidden research headed by a Tevinter magister, no amount of friendship would stop Cassandra – or better yet, Divine Victoria – from intervening and banning all the mages involved. Perhaps even executing them.

‘I am willing to provide any materials you need, but it’s not that simple, Alexius, and you know it. If I allow for certain experiments to be conducted here, right under the watchful eye of the Divine...’

He raised a hand, interrupting her. ‘I know, I know. Trust me. I won’t raise the dead or attempt blood magic. Besides, those who seek knowledge must be aware of the unusual consequences their search tends to generate, wouldn’t you agree, Inquisitor?’

‘Quite. Should I ask Dorian to come over? He was your assistant, wasn’t he?’

Alexius was taken aback at the suggestion. He and the young mage hadn’t parted in bad ways, but their association was now jeopardized after the events in Redcliffe. ‘I’m not sure if he would be willing to. But by all means, contact him. If anything, this issue should peak his curiosity. Yes...I’ll write to him. But I don’t know if he’s still living with his father...’

‘Just hand the letter to my Spymaster. She probably keeps tabs on his whereabouts.’

‘That one doesn’t miss much.’ The magister cunningly remarked.

As Erwin began to walk back to the flight of stairs, he called her one last time. ‘Inquisitor, you didn’t ask me what kind of mages used to have those visions...’

She turned around. **_Used_** to have? What did he mean by that?

‘ **Only dreamers can access the Fade and go as far as he went** ; a place where time and space are not linear; where past and future are as real as the present.’

Whatever answer he could have provided her, that was not what she expected. ‘Samson? But how...?’

‘That is what I am VERY curious to find out.’ He said, answering her final, unspoken question.

 

* * *

 

**4.**

 

The first stars twinkled in the evening sky when Samson had finished training his new troops. They were comprised of fifty men and women who were young and inexperienced enough to wet themselves upon holding their first sword. Where the Inquisitor was capable of finding such fresh recruits, he couldn’t fathom.

_The night breeze feels just like when I first saw her; boy, what a delight, just standing here, feeling the scent of her perfume and listening to her sweet voice..._

Samson was in the battlements, eyes shut, allowing the wind to caress his hair. This was the spot where they had met for the first time. Whenever he was feeling happy and elated, he would return there and relive those life-changing moments, when he found the right woman and his once ruined reputation was upturned.

A few meters from where he stood, he heard the door to the tower close with a bang. His eyes sprung open and he turned to stare at who had interrupted his moment of bliss. Black fur, red clothes, templar armor and combed blond curls...

_Cullen. Of course. Who else would it be?_

The smile he had been sporting in the past few days gave way to the typical scowl he used to wear. Funny how you met the very people you wanted to avoid in a remote location such as the arse end of Skyhold, the battlements in the farthest tower.  Cullen may not have displayed any signs of walking toward him, but he kept his guard up, nonetheless.

 _You don’t know what you’re doing, you runt. If you’re looking for a confrontation, I’ll give you one._  

Samson decided not to give the Commander an excuse to talk to him and started walking, hoping he’d reach the door before the man tried to exchange words with him.

Cullen passed him by, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, eyes focused where he was going. None uttered a word as they glanced at each other once and then resumed their walk as if nothing happened.

Samson was almost reaching the door when...

‘Wait, lieutenant.’ It was an order, not a request. He was now Lieutenant, wasn’t he? He was bound to obey...

Samson reluctantly turned around. ‘Is something the matter, Commander?’ he asked, genuinely avoiding any sarcasm.

Cullen looked every bit annoyed. He was uncomfortable in Samson’s presence, regardless of what he did. ‘You’ve been here for less than a month and have already gotten... ** _familiar_** with the Inquisitor.’

Samson understood perfectly what was going on in his mind. ‘Oh? What of it?’ He felt the urge of retorting with a ‘Stolen your chance of ever becoming familiar with her yourself?’, but he wouldn’t give Cullen that satisfaction.

‘She feels sorry for you whenever she looks at you. The poor templar who lost his way. But do you know what I see?’ he hinted, eyes tightening in a threatening manner.

Samson could already tell where this was going. He remained silent and let the man say what he meant.

‘I see a man who betrayed every principle he once upheld, broke every oath he once swore. I see a man who threw his honour to the garbage as men and women suffered around him. I see a man who committed the worst crime a templar could have committed against brothers and sisters: standing around and doing nothing. And letting them become Corypheus’ prey...one by one.’

‘I’ve already said my piece about it, Commander. If anyone has the right to judge me for my actions, that person is the Inquisitor. And her sentence has already been passed on me.’ Samson answered in a silent tone.

‘No. I was there. I was in Kirkwall when you still served the Order. I know what sort of man you are. And Corypheus saw it as well.’

Samson’s eyes glinted. ‘That I am what? Weak? Is that what you mean to say, Commander?’ his voice wavered slightly, but he refused to let his hurt show.

‘How do you justify what you did? I saw these men die. I had to cut down several faces I recognised. Men and women who I worked with over the years!’

‘You think I don’t know what that feels like? You think I don’t share that pain?’ he asked, defensively.

Cullen roared a resounding ‘No!’ and the soldiers in the training ground a few meters below stopped practising to watch the discussion.

‘You stood there and you let it happen. Those people were once **your** people. They were long before Meredith took charge. And yet, you accepted Corypheus’ offer.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Just like that. You are corrupt. Ever since you accepted to help that mage, you were always so easily corruptible. And no amount of work for the Inquisition will wash that away. You’re a treason waiting to happen. I can see where your...association with the Inquisitor will lead...us.’ he meant to say ‘her’, but changed it on the nick of time.

For his part, Samson could hardly believe how Cullen was inclined to only seeing things according to one narrow interpretation. It was the same kind of paranoid mentality that belonged to people like Meredith.

‘You call that corruption? Helping a mage have a semblance of a normal life, instead of living like a prisoner? You call what I did an act of corruption, after witnessing firsthand how Meredith destroyed the lives of countless people?’

‘The blood mages she executed would have destroyed more had she not acted!’

‘Yes. And it gave you no short amount of pleasure to serve as her lapdog, as I recall.’

His twisted smile came at the wrong time. Cullen’s eyes glinted madly as he advanced dangerously toward his rival with his face suffused with red. ‘How dare you...’

_Hit a nerve, Commander?_

‘You watched as she executed innocent mages and did nothing!’ he threw at Cullen. ‘You watched her keep her arms crossed to Ser Alrik’s abuses! Don’t pretend you don’t know, he wasn’t the only one in the Order. There were others. And the Knight-Commander knew.’ He exclaimed in an accusatory tone. ‘And why did she keep them? Why not send them to be trialed and judged in Orlais? Hm? Care to answer that, Cullen?’

The commander lowered his eyes and remained silent, even though he knew the answer. Once he dared to look at Samson once more, his rival went on.

‘That’s damn right. Because a reign of terror would prevent any revolts. No matter if the cost was the mages’ integrity or welfare. That bitch.’ He muttered under his breath.

Cullen was breathing fast, measuring his words. Samson just droned on, unexpectedly revealing another side of Meredith’s policy Cullen had never cared to admit:

‘And how was it possible for her to do everything she did? Because she got rid of those who would stand up against her arbitrary leadership. She got rid of ME; of Emeric, of so many others! She used you and others who were eager to serve because she damn well knew none of you, fresh, young templars, recently out of your apprenticehood, would question a word that came out of her mouth!’

But Cullen wasn’t fully convinced. The crisis in Kirkwall was not a figment of Meredith’s imagination. It had been real.

 ‘How could you not see the city was in danger? Why do you think the Divine chose a new Knight-Commander?’

‘The only danger to Kirkwall was when that mad woman took charge! You saw how she treated the mages, Cullen! Do you honestly believe that filling the cells in the Gallows and caging them like animals was the solution to anything?’

‘She was placed there by the Divine for a reason! Blood mages were attempting to recruit numbers in Kirkwall. They came from all over the place: Antiva, Nevarra, even Tevinter. You don’t know how neck deep the city was in blood magic before she took charge!’

‘And many more turned to blood magic thanks to her policy. Repression breeds revolt. She didn’t know when to stop. Where to draw the line.’

‘No, she could not. Not with people like you undermining her every effort. How many mages did you help escape in return for a few coins? You never had any thought for the victims of those who escaped! You just wanted money to sustain your vile addiction. Anything for a handful of lyrium. That was always you, wasn’t it, Samson?’ he said with spite.

Samson felt his bile revolving in his stomach. He wasn’t going to drag that stupid argument again, was he? Of course he was. Samson had been dreading that moment ever since he set foot in Skyhold. The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of the humiliation he had to withstand as a guttersnipe.

‘I said it once and I’ll say it again; it’s been a long time since anyone could get under my skin with that. But don’t you dare test me...’ he threatened in a low voice.

‘Corypheus already did that. For us. And he proved what was in plain sight all the time. You don’t have inner strength. You give in to your weaknesses. You’d kiss the hand of those who would give you access to every sort of vice you have. If it came to that, you would have placed the Templar Order in jeopardy. And you did in the end, didn’t you? Just as you will the Inquisition someday.’

‘How perceptive of you.’ He retorted with sarcasm.

‘I heard some of the things you did while living in the streets of Lowtown. You weren’t just smuggling innocent mages, were you? You actually killed one or two people for a bit of lyrium. One of them a templar. You also sold your... **_services_** to widowed matrons.’

Samson remained silent as the Commander droned on about the many dubious actions he committed in a past he was so desperate to leave behind.

‘You ambushed newcomers, barely out of the ships in the harbor and threatened them for a few coppers. You then sold their stolen goods in the black market. You were responsible for getting a whole team of templars killed by warning a group of escaped mages in advance. Even your wife left you, didn’t she?’ Samson looked up, livid. ‘After she realised how low you were willing to go for your addiction...’

This was it. Samson was now positively fuming. If the Commander was trying to unnerve him, he had finally managed to do so.

‘You miserable stuck up bastard. You dare compare my life to yours? You wouldn’t have the balls to last one day in the living hell I had to endure! And don’t talk to me about your skirmish with that desire demon in the Ferelden Circle Tower. That was a picnic compared to what most people have to face in real life, Cullen!’

Samson was no longer going to hold back. He was fed up with that narrow-minded, pampered pseudo-moralist. He could go stick his speech where the sun didn’t shine, along with his dick and balls and his fake superior morality.

‘Yes, it’s easy to tell others they should fight harder when you yourself have never wanted for anything! While you were serving under that tyrannical bitch, enjoying every privilege a lapdog had the right to, I had to beg on the streets for food! For a decent meal, for a blanket! Accuse me as much as you like, Cullen but you never had to go through any of this in your life!’ he vociferated.

‘Let’s see if your personal suffering will serve as an excuse when the Inquisitor has to count on you as she holds for dear life and you once again turn your back on those who depend on you to survive.’ He retorted.

His words cut like razor, making Samson’s heart bleed, like it hadn’t bled in a long time. The truth was distorted once again, attributing acts to him he never committed. And why? Because he was once a **_degenerate, a filthy addict_**. Cullen was wrong; he was SO very wrong...but he was tired. Tired of fighting to try and make them see...the ones who were never abandoned and left to their own devices were never able to see. They were always blind and forever would be.

Cullen turned around and was about to resume walking when Samson spoke again.

‘Heh. I know what’s going on here.’

‘I’m sorry?’ he turned to his rival once again.

‘You’re not bothered by my presence. You don’t give a damn about what happens to me. At all. You’re afraid of me. Of what I represent to you.’

Cullen began to stutter. Samson had hit a nerve. ‘W-what do you mean by that?’

He took firm steps toward the Commander. ‘I could be you. If you...had given in to the lyrium.’

The Commander’s eyes widened. He pressed on.

‘A degenerate. A man who lost everything and everyone precious to him. And you fear it.’ He let out a long breath ‘well, you should. This is why you’re a good Commander, no doubt.’ He added in a melancholic voice.

Samson turned his back and began walking away, when he stopped and spoke in a dreamy voice: ‘I could’ve been one, too, you know. Almost made it to Knight-Captain. Did a good job as a recruit. Treated mages with respect and decency. Even earned my sunshield from the Knight-Commander himself. But then...well, the rest of the story, you already know.’

But Cullen once again displayed the same skepticism Samson was tired of seeing in so many faces whenever they looked at him.

‘You know you couldn’t have made it. You didn’t have it in you. And thinking it will be different won’t make it so.’

‘I ain’t got the patience anymore to convince anyone otherwise, Commander.’ He concluded in a disheartened tone.

_Used and discarded. And the fault is supposed to be all mine. He has no idea._

He walked away from the man who he once considered a colleague, feeling the familiar fatigue that used to haunt him whenever he went during the worst days of his life. Now that he had some semblance of prestige back again, he hoped his dark days were behind him. But it seemed Cullen had found a way to get under his skin, like so many had done in the past.

 

* * *

 

**5.**

 

**Later that day...**

 

‘Inquisitor! Slept well?’

Leliana’s sudden question caught Erwin by surprise. She suspected the Spymaster already knew of her affair with Samson. Her birds were everywhere in Skyhold. For her luck, she remembered she had fought a magister just yesterday. An immortal creature, commanding ancient powerful magic. With delusions of Godhood. And saved Thedas. All in one day.

‘I...yes, I did. Thanks for asking. I received your communiqué. It said it was urgent.’

The Spymaster went straight to business.

‘We’ve received so many news it’s difficult to know where to start. I’m afraid the defeat of Corypheus will not give us time to rest.’

Leliana then proceeded to show 3 letters on her desk. The first was sent by King Alistair. According to the Spymaster, he requested an urgent meeting with the Inquisitor to discuss a distressing matter. He described it as being related to the recent coronation of Gaspard as Emperor less than one month ago.

‘A political maneuver he blames you for. Alistair is still not convinced it was for the best. In his mind, Empress Celene would’ve kept the peace, while Gaspard is an expansionist war waiting to happen.’ Leliana commented.

‘He is aware of the power behind the throne?’ she suggested.

‘He was until last week. Briala has gone missing. Hence all his hurry to speak to you.’

‘Missing?’ Erwin exclaimed. ‘Please don’t tell me there’s any confirmation that she’s...’

‘No, Inquisitor. Believe me, if she were dead, my agents would know. No, there’s been no successful attempts on her life. They’ve just lost track of her. Apparently, she doesn’t want to be found.’

Leliana reported her successive attempts to contact the elf, but for some unfathomable reason, the Inquisition’s messengers were unable to find her.

‘It’s not as if she didn’t have reason to disappear. In the past few weeks, Gaspard tried to get rid of her. Twice.’ She stressed the last word.

‘My guess as well, Inquisitor. Although she might’ve disappeared for reasons of her own.’ The Spymaster wondered.

‘I thought the problem of relocating the elves in Orlais from alienages to independent settlements had been taken care of.’

‘They were, but only in part. Briala’s last report stated there was still a long way to go until the elves were secured their basic rights in the Empire.’ She pointed out.

Erwin questioned whether Briala could’ve escaped to Ferelden to flee Gaspard, or perhaps to contact a friend of hers; someone also engaged to the elven cause. Leliana admitted it was quite possible, but the elf would still reassure the Inquisition she was alive and well. If anything, so as not to leave them guessing and to remind them her reigns over Gaspard were still in place.

The Spymaster moved on to the next subject.

‘I daresay that is not all Alistair will wish to discuss with you. One of my birds has told me some, er...disquieting news.’

Erwin could tell they involved her somehow and her mind jumped to the message she had received many weeks earlier from her brothers, summoning her presence.

‘Go ahead.’

‘Last week, Bann Teagan was seen riding to Ostwick. Apparently, it was at the request of your mother.’

Erwin’s entire demeanour changed and she tensed up. Her family getting involved with Alistair’s uncle and political advisor was terrible news.

‘As it happened, your brother George was seen riding across the Orlesian border to meet with him in Redcliffe. There were more than just a few words exchanged. Bann Teagan actually lost his temper with the General and threatened to hang him if he didn’t leave the village.’

‘Not surprising. My brother was never one to mince words. No doubt he bullied Bann Teagan to get what he wanted from the man.’

Leliana threw her a side glance, watching her reaction with as much discretion as possible. There were one or two disturbing facts about the Trevelyan household that had reached her ears long before Erwin had even become the Inquisitor; to unearth such secrets was part of her job as the Left Hand; but she never imagined the Trevelyan Brothers and their father to be such a handful as they were recently proving to be.

‘Wait. You called my brother a General? Maker’s breath, is he one of the officers ahead of Gaspard’s army?’

‘Yes, Inquisitor. He was promoted after his predecessor died two weeks ago.’

‘How?’

‘Not of natural causes, my agents assured me. But there was never an autopsy.’

Erwin screwed her face in a taciturn expression.

‘Your brother is quite ruthless for a Fereldan. Almost a skilled player at the Game, from the way he was promoted in Gaspard’s army so quickly.’

‘My family is only Fereldan in name.’ She said with spite. ‘We can expect anything from my brothers. There are some lines that are not meant to be crossed, even in the political game. They cross them as if they were bidding you good day.’

 _So the rumours were true_ , Leliana thought. She would alert her birds to keep a closer surveillance on George and Patrick Trevelyan from now on.

‘The other letter came from Loghain. He usually writes directly to you, but seeing as you asked not to be interrupted...’

Erwin couldn’t avoid blushing and tried to keep a straight face. ‘Thank you for respecting my privacy, Leliana. I appreciate it. I really needed my rest. What did he write to us about?’

The Spymaster explained the Warden alerted the Inquisition on two subjects. The first continued to report on the red lyrium widespread. After writing several times to Weisshaupt and receiving no reply, Loghain began a long and exhaustive operation to seal darkspawn tunnels, an operation that could be carried only by Wardens due to the danger of someone contracting the taint.

According to him, the red darkspawn were invading the surface in hordes. If no one stopped them, they’d have a sixth Blight in their hands, even with no Archdemon.

Erwin received the news with alarm. In his last letter, Loghain had assured her the red darkspawn were confined to the Deep Roads. Now they were pillaging villages and murdering innocents on the surface?

‘If this is true...They can’t be doing this all by themselves. These monsters have no free will. They would never risk an attack on the surface unless they were organized. This damn business makes no sense. Who’s commanding the red darkspawn?’

‘He posed the same question in his letter, Inquisitor. He has no idea, and I really don’t like the sound of it. I have a theory, but it is so wild I doubt it can explain anything.’

‘Let’s hear it.’ Erwin insisted.

Leliana then narrated the events in Amaranthine during the time the Hero of Ferelden was Warden-Commander. She had uncovered two tribes of darkspawn waging war. One of them was a broodmother who no longer heard the Calling after she had been subjected to some... experiments.

‘And who was leading the other one?’

The Spymaster revealed it was the one who had done such experiments; a strange darkspawn called only **The Architect**. The Hero had told her the eeriest things about that creature. Tales that were difficult to believe in, such as The Architect being a darkspawn immune to the Calling.

‘He claimed he had started practicing the Joining or something close to it in his own kin. And that as a result, they were no longer mentally controlled by the Calling. They began to develop rational thinking and speech. One of them even fought side by side with the Hero in Amaranthine, or so the rumors say. In other words, their minds had awakened.’

The whole situation seemed so farfetched.

‘Thinking and talking darkspawn? Is that even possible? What does Loghain think about this?’

‘That is something you should ask him. And you have the opportunity, now. He’s summoned you to a meeting. Right now, he’s riding to Denerim to see Alistair.’

‘What?’ she exclaimed.

Leliana told her the Warden got word of an Orlesian General visiting Ferelden and wanted to learn what the visit was about. He reported also being aware of the intense movement of Orlesian troops near the northern border. Erwin guessed what worried her old friend.

Ever the patriot, he was going to demand satisfaction from the king to know what measures was he taking to avoid the chevaliers invading their neighbouring country.

‘It shall be an interesting meeting. Those two never saw eye-to-eye.’

Leliana smirked at her comment. ‘No. I wish I were there to see it. Alistair never accepted the Hero’s decision to spare Loghain. I wonder if she’ll show up as well...’ she trailed off.

‘You think she could go to this meeting?’

‘I don’t know. But why not? Loghain did mention her in his previous letter. And she is in Ferelden.’ Still hesitant, she then asked: ‘If you see her, would you tell her I miss her? It’s been so long since I heard from her. We were friends when we last set on our own ways. I hope she still remembers me.’

Erwin was moved by the tenderness with which she spoke of her friend. It was a rare side of hers that Leliana displayed. She promised to do as the sister asked.

And finally, the Spymaster placed her hand over the third and last letter. It had the purple seal of the crow; one of her agents had sent that message.

‘Ever since you shut down that smuggling operation, I’ve been investigating their employers. That Orlesian noble who Harold was working for has many ties to suspicious people; most of them corrupt members of the Antivan court. Two have dealings with a trading company which specialises in importing all kinds of products from Ferelden and Orlais. And more than once have they been suspect of engaging in smuggling certain goods to Tevinter.’ 

Erwin’s eyes widened at the implication of this.

‘So there’s a chance all that red lyrium was actually being sent to Tevinter?’

Leliana nodded, as concerned as she was.

‘Inquisitor, I cannot begin to imagine the depth of the consequences of Magisters placing their hands on red lyrium. No doubt they are fascinated by it and wish to study it further. If they discovered a kind of magic that could render them immune to the shards...’

She covered her mouth with her hand, concerned. No doubt word of the Heroine of Ferelden’s miraculous survival had reached all the way to the Imperium. If they put two and two together and realized normal lyrium once tainted became red, then what would stop them of using it as a weapon?

The way Erwin saw it, only one person could help provide some answers.

‘Have we found Morrigan yet?’

‘My agents cannot locate her. She’s gone, much like Solas. Don’t worry, Inquisitor.’ Leliana added, reading her concern ‘She would have no interest in betraying us.’

‘No; she wouldn’t, would she?’ she admitted.

Leliana told her it would take days to identify the Antivan’s contacts in Tevinter. It would be best if Erwin focused on the problems arising with the Orlesian troops and King Alistair. Once she had more news, she would reconvene with the Inquisitor.

 

* * *

 

**6.**

 

**Ciy of Denerim...**

 

‘So he’s let the previous king die and the current one, who happens to be a bastard and the long lost brother of the deceased, not only hates him, but was forced to marry his daughter?’ Blackwall asked.

‘A rather messy business. One I’m not too familiar with.’ Erwin limited herself to comment.

‘Hmph. Fereldans and their politics...’ he gave a short laugh.

‘Don’t forget their stubbornness. It almost precipitated a civil war. If it hadn’t been for the last two Grey Wardens, there’d be no more Ferelden after the Archdemon arrived in Denerim. You’d think they would care more about their own lives than their pride.’ Varric wittingly remarked.

‘It was more than a matter of pride. A serious treason had to be answered with justice.’ she replied, nonchalant.

‘Yeah. The traitor was made a Grey Warden. His daughter remains the queen. And now he’s good friends with the Inquisitor. Funny how that works as a punishment.’ The dwarf carried on.

‘Fereldans and their sense of justice...’ Blackwall commented, reminded of his own unusual trial not many months ago.

Erwin let out a disgusted noise and ended up making Sera laugh. ‘You sounded just like Cassandra, y’know?’

‘I should be honored to be compared to her.’

‘Honoured. Yeah, right.’ she said derisively.

‘What on earth d’you mean?’ she exclaimed. ‘Sera?’ the look on the elf’s face told her everything. ‘Oh, for the love of the Maker…’

‘Calm your titties, Cookies. She doesn’t think of the Seeker in _that_ way.’ Varric reprimanded. ‘Well, former Seeker.’

‘Yeah? Well, she doesn’t fool me. Our Inquisitor plays on both teams. She just doesn’t want to admit it.’

‘Or maybe that’s how you want to picture her. In that imaginative little head of yours.’ Varric insinuated.

‘Do I have to hear that sort of conversation?’ Blackwall complained.

Erwin limited herself to snort and shake her head. Ever since Corypheus’ defeat, the dwarf and the elf had an even smarter mouth than ever. She wondered why did she keep bringing the two of them along in her errands.

‘Why didn’t you bring Samson along? I thought he was supposed to be your bodyguard from now on.’ He slyly suggested.

So that was the reason why he was teasing her so much. Great. Varric had heard the rumours between her and the Captain of her guard. As if he missed much.

She hesitated to reply to the dwarf, mind lost in thought. Soon enough, she would meet with two of the most important figures of Ferelden. Their actions reshaped the country ten years ago. Their meeting with the Inquisitor would have resounding effects for years to come.

The group had arrived in Denerim. The Inquisitor and her companions were properly escorted by a convoy, surrounded by soldiers bearing the one-eyed insignia. The crowd parted way as they marched on; even the wagons stopped on the side of the road as they passed by.

‘Samson is still training his men. I’ve provided him with a few names among our forces; all of them young and able.’ She finally answered.

‘Hm.’ Varric was impressed. By not selecting any experienced combatants, she avoided any malcontents in... – damn, he needed to find a suitable nickname for him - _the former templar’s_ private army.

I’ve also ordered Cullen to help him with whatever he needed. Training grounds, equipment, anything.’ She added.

The dwarf had to snort. ‘Have you seen the way Curly looks at him? If I didn’t know they were colleagues in Kirkwall, I’d think Samson murdered his family or something.’

‘Yeah, Cullen can be a real stuck up, sometimes.’ She sounded annoyed.

Her companions stared at her back with an astonished expression, exchanging a look of disbelief. She and Cullen had been good friends ever since she arrived in Skyhold. Or at least the two of them were often seen talking and in such good terms. Varric didn’t have the faintest idea what had unnerved her so where the Commander was concerned, - neither did Blackwall, for that matter- but sooner or later, they would find out.

 

...

 

‘Over here, Inquisitor. The King and the senior Warden are expecting you.’

As the guards opened the great doors of Denerim Palace, the booming voice of Loghain filled the surroundings. Apparently, he had lost his nerve with Alistair. Erwin and the others tried to discern what was all that arguing about, but had to wait until a second pair of doors was opened at the end of the hall to make sense of all the shouting.

‘You can’t ignore the threat to Ferelden! It is your duty to ensure this man is brought to questioning.’

‘May I remind you it wasn’t me who recruited him to my army after Cailan’s death? Or turned my back to our soldiers in the field?’

‘Oh great, Alistair, now you’re going to drag issues from the past. We both know the mistakes I committed, the entire Ferelden knows. How will shoving them to my face help to cope with Gaspard and his advancing army?’

The two contenders halted their arguing as the loud sound of the pair of heavy doors being opened reverberated in the Throne Room. As they stared at the newcomer, the king resumed his usual stoic formality, reserved for guests of the Inquisitor’s stature. Loghain, however, smiled and addressed her in a warm and friendly tone.

‘Inquisitor, your arrival was much expected.’ He greeted her, walking toward her before the king could even open his mouth. She opened a large smile, showing appreciation for seeing an old friend again..

‘I came as soon as I got your letter. Loghain, how have you been?’ she greeted in response, shaking hands with him.

‘His letter?’ the king muttered under his breath.

Loghain resumed his nasty tone. ‘Perhaps you can talk some sense into the king. I know I tried, but he’s determined to shut his ears to my advice. His stubbornness blinds him to the real danger we’re facing here.’

‘Loghain...’ Alistair warned.

‘Very well. I can see there are pressing matters we must address. Gentlemen, I believe we should sit down and talk. Many events are being set in motion as we speak and we are missing the grand scheme, so let’s gather our facts, shall we?’

 

...

 

The Inquisitor sat with the King and the acting Warden-Commander in Eamon’s office. She watched both men for a few moments before beginning their meeting.

One was sitting on her right, dressed in an elegant dark red velvet garment. He looked imposing and regal as the leader who swept a nation with his ever youthful charisma. The other, sitting on her left, dressed in the classical grey and blue uniform, looked every bit the seasoned warrior who earned the respect of his men with his dutiful temperament and his ability to take charge.

The wolf and the lion stared at each other, animosity lurking on their features; years of bitterness resurfaced right from the moment they exchanged their first words in years.

‘First, we should address the more urgent matter at hand...’ Erwin proposed.

‘The darkspawn.’ Said Loghain.

‘The Orlesians.’ Said Alistair.

Both had spoken at the same time and just stared at each other. She couldn’t help but wonder how their roles would be reversed if that conversation were taking place ten years ago.

‘We must avert not only one, but two crises lurking on our doorstep.’

‘My, my, the Maker has a funny sense of humour. As if coping with the Blight and Tevinter magisters in our own soil wasn’t enough.’ Remarked the King.

‘So, Inquisitor, where shall we begin at?’ the Warden demanded.

‘Gaspard. If we are to cope with the darkspawn, we must deal with him first.’ She said, rubbing her hands.

Erwin confirmed she received the report on the movement of the Orlesian troops so near the Ferelden border. She had also heard of her brother interfering in royal affairs.

‘My brother George is no diplomat and always had a talent for putting people off.’

‘You’re telling me; Teagan would have had him thrown out from Redcliffe, but he was escorted by his troops. Quite a large number of them, actually. Which got me thinking. How did he cross the border unnoticed by the rest of the Bannorn? You’d think someone _would_ have sent word to Denerim upon setting eyes on a massive Orlesian army crossing to their former province.’

She frowned. If he was travelling with his army, then his intent to invade was clear. So why hadn’t he seized the village at once? What held him back? Or perhaps his goal was to intimidate the Bannorn by confronting a renowned politician.

 ‘Unless some of these Banns had their pockets filled with coins.’ Loghain snarled. Alistair couldn’t believe what he was implying.

‘My daughter had to fend off more than one Bann or two who tried to sweet talk Cailan into approving some damn irregular law that would favour their interests. Some of these Banns could be easily mistaken by Orlesians, the way they do politics.’ He scowled.

‘On that, I can agree. My family can hardly be called Fereldan.’ Erwin commented.

Loghain was taken aback. ‘Inquisitor, I didn’t mean...’

She smiled, saying it was alright. She understood. She then advised Alistair on how to handle her brother.

‘George is the kind of man who provokes his adversary. Whatever he does, you must not answer until he’s revealed his real intention.’

‘How will I know what that is?’ Alistair questioned.

‘He answers directly to the emperor nowadays. And Gaspard is making every attempt to press toward a war with Ferelden. He is so focused on it Briala even went into hiding after two assassination attempts.’

‘Who’s Briala?’ Loghain asked.

Erwin explained about the elf pulling the strings behind the throne and how she helped place her there. An ever watchful eye in service to the Inquisition. ‘Wise move.’ He conceded.

‘She had been feeding us constant updates on Gaspard’s moves until her reports stopped coming. Now that we’ve lost a valuable source of information, we’re blindfolded. If we wish to know what Gaspard’s next move is, we’ll have to wait for him to take the initiative. For now, I believe he sent a direct message to you, Alistair.’ she turned to him. ‘He went straight for your uncle. Your most trusted advisor.’

Alistair told her the general suggested Teagan went to see Gaspard, who was supposedly visiting Ferelden right now.

‘What?’ both Loghain and her exclaimed.

‘I thought that would get your attention.’ He smirked, carrying on.

When his uncle refused, George asked if he was off to see his bastard nephew. Teagan immediately picked up on the provocation and demanded to know what did he mean by that. George then implied he shouldn’t be surprised Ferelden politics were decided by a commoner. He was referring to the hero of Ferelden, of course. And that because of that, it was in no shape to stand against a proper emperor. He went further on as to saying that placing a king without a proper lineage honored the reputation of being the dog country, a country full of dogs...born out of bitches.

Erwin merely sunk her head and let out a bored sigh. How typical of her brother. Loghain, however, had taken the comment quite seriously. He not only muttered swear words under his breath, but his hand was now curled into a fist. Across the table, Alistair wore a cynical expression.

‘Always the bastard thing. You would think people were to come up with better insults.’ he shook his head.

‘My brother was testing your uncle. Luckily, you won’t be so easy to provoke, my King.’ She commented.

‘My King...’ he repeated in a dreamy voice ‘Am I blushing?’

‘You’re not taking this threat seriously enough!’ came Loghain’s warning. ‘If Gaspard has crossed the border, then he doesn’t intend to leave so soon.’

‘We can’t push him back without risking a war.’ She argued in a worried tone.

‘And I still don’t trust the Banns that let him enter so easily...’ he drummed his fingers on the table.

Immersed in their own thoughts, none of them said anything until Alistair spoke.

‘I think I should go meet Gaspard.’

Loghain immediately protested. ‘Have you lost your mind? You’ll walk straight into a trap!’

‘Perhaps I won’t.’ He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the Inquisitor.

Although Erwin understood what he had in mind, she wasn’t sure it was the brightest of ideas. ‘You understand the Inquisition’s presence would still not prevent an attack should he be determined to invade?’

‘Would he attack the institution responsible for his successful coronation?’ the King questioned.

‘And also the one who placed an ever watchful dagger on his neck.’ She reminded him. ‘And that dagger is now gone.’

‘You are not thinking about the Fereldan people. **Your** people.’ Loghain continued to complain. ‘If you die...’

‘...Anora will go on as their Queen.’ Alistair interrupted him.

‘And Gaspard will be free to marry her as a condition to stop the war.’ He insisted.

‘I don’t like this plan, either, Your Majesty.’ Erwin chimed in. ‘But for now, I have no other solution. If you intend to meet Gaspard, then at least come to Skyhold. Let’s plan our strategy.’

Alistair’s eyes were suddenly lit. ‘That’s it! Skyhold. We could ask Gaspard to meet us there.’

Erwin was genuinely surprised at the ingenuity of the plan. But she wasn’t the only one.

‘Hmph. Finally a clever suggestion coming from your mouth.’ Loghain commented.

‘I do my best.’ Alistair retorted with a silly smirk.

 

...

 

The second part of the meeting didn’t run so smoothly. Loghain narrated in great detail the struggle the Grey Wardens faced everyday against the fast spread of red lyrium underground. Their task to eradicate the darkspawn had become increasingly more difficult by the minute, with the blighted creatures now not only infected by the taint, but rendered much more powerful due to the magical properties conferred by the mineral.

Which just made them a lot more difficult to kill.

‘It feels like a losing battle, Inquisitor.’ He sounded worn out. ‘Every time I have to do some errand in the Deep Roads, I just know I’m going to lose half of my men. I’m not sure how long I can go on like this.’

And after the events in Adamant Fortress, he added, their numbers were hardly adequate to face a new Blight.

‘Hold on. There is no Archdemon out there.’

‘You forget the Architect was set loose by the Hero. Who’s to say he isn’t behind all this?’

‘You think he’s leading the red darkspawn? My advisor told me a different story.’

Loghain let out a long sigh. ‘I’m not sure of anything, Inquisitor. Whatever is commanding those monsters, it has to be stopped. And the Wardens alone can’t do it.’

His heartfelt confession stirred something inside the King; a feeling he hadn’t had for the past ten years.

‘I will place the royal troops at your disposal and make a decree. Every able man and woman, elf and dwarf is to enlist in the army. We have a national crisis. I won’t let Ferelden fall to a second Blight.’

‘Although I appreciate the gesture, Alistair, I’m not sure this is the wisest course of action.’ Loghain answered. ‘The country is still recovering from that last blow. Maker, **I** am still recovering.’

‘And if there is to be war with Orlais...’ Erwin insinuated.

‘Maker help us all.’ The Warden said.

The three of them fell silent, pondering the future implications of this conjuncture.

‘Dark clouds are ahead of us, no matter where we turn to look.’ Alistair remarked grimly.

Loghain pointed out the red darkspawn were not a problem exclusive to Ferelden. He had been to the Orlesian provinces via the underground tunnels, excavated by those creatures over millennia. Gaspard must’ve known by now they were a threat to be contended with.

‘If not, you’ll have the chance to remind him during your meeting. Remind that sordid man his people are dying due to darkspawn raids. Now that the crown weights on his head, he’s got his head so full of idiotic ambitious politics, he might have forgotten his duty to the people he swore to serve.’

‘Wait. You went to Orlais a few years ago, didn’t you? When the Hero was still in Ferelden?’

He looked back at Erwin and replied positively. ‘What of it?’

She suggested the Wardens could spy on Gaspard’s doings while protecting his troops from the darkspawn. The comment immediately earned a stern look from both the King and the Warden.

‘What?’

‘Inquisitor, the Order never gets involved in politics.’ He stressed the ‘never’.

‘Indeed? Then why were you complaining to Alistair about Orlesian troops in the Ferelden border?’

He went pale and was at a loss for words, almost spluttering as he answered. ‘I am a defender of this country first and foremost! I’m not going to let some...some masked tyrants step in here, thinking they own back the place!’

‘So you are involved, whether you admit it or not.’ She insisted.

‘I...’ he didn’t know how to reply.

‘Look, sooner or later, both countries will face open warfare. With George leading the Orlesian army, I can tell you right here and now that they will. And all the while, the people will have to contend with the darkspawn invasion. Villages will be massacred while our armies butcher each other. We might as well have a shot at warning Gaspard at what’s really at stake here.’ She concluded.

Both men exchanged a brief knowing look.

‘Spoken like a true Warden, Inquisitor.’ Loghain approved.

‘I wish I had said that.’ Alistair feigned annoyance.

‘You’ve been out of the Order for too long.’ The Warden barked.

‘You’re right. All those parties I must’ve missed...one of the shortcomings of becoming King.’ He answered, nonchalant.

Loghain was not amused. ‘One of them being to produce an heir. It’s been ten years, now. The people is already talking, Alistair. When is that prince coming?’

He couldn’t bring himself to answer _that_. Erwin watched as Alistair’s face was slowly suffused with red and held back a laugh.

 

* * *

 

 

**7.**

Erwin walked alongside Loghain as she spent her last hours in Denerim discussing news with her friend. As he spoke about his experience leading the Wardens in Ferelden, she watched him discreetly.

He looked every bit as tired. How old must he be, now? Sixty, seventy years old? He was in no condition to go on fighting. Especially not during the beginning of a new Blight.

‘I can’t convey to you how these attacks have tested our forces. Fighting darkspawn is one thing. Fighting those red monsters...Maker’s breath...’ he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking stressed.

Erwin placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. He patted it, demonstrating his appreciation.

‘You revealed some interesting things in your last letter, Inquisitor. Have I understood correctly? Your Warden mage has successfully reverted the red lyrium corruption in a man?’

She described the procedure in great detail, answering his many doubts about the whole complicated process. In the end, it all came down to magically multiplying uterus blood from a previously tainted woman and blood transfusion.

‘Maker, who would’ve thought it would be this easy...’

‘Has the Hero looked at our solution to the taint?’

Loghain glanced around, hoping there was no one nearby. ‘Yes. As a matter of fact, she’s also has some interesting finding of her own...’

He went on to describe how the Hero managed to meet Flemeth many years ago after the Bight had ended and demanded to know more about the Dark Ritual. The witch was evasive as ever, but indicated she should trust her instincts in the matter, “just as she had done when sparing the life of an old, unusually intelligent foe.”

Erwin creased her forehead. ‘What foe?’

‘The Architect. A highly intelligent darkspawn she had met during her years as Warden-Commander.’ He replied. Apparently, that was the hint for seeking a cure to the taint.

Erwin then commented Leliana’s hypothesis of the so-called Architect being the leader of these red darkspawn, but Loghain dismissed the possibility.

‘Solona ensured me the Deep Roads near Amaranthine were no longer dangerous thanks to the Architect’s work. I may not have laid eyes on the creature, but I trust her. Her judgement seldom falters.’

Erwin was befuddled as to how this matter involved unknown creatures of distant places and magic that was unheard of. It was as if the Inquisition stood on the threshold of some great earth-shattering event, one that concerned old magic and esoteric secrets. Intelligent darkspawn, the taint, ancient rituals of blood that cleansed the corruption...all of this was way beyond her league.

And the few experts that could help her were out of her reach...

‘Has the Hero had success contacting this Architect so far?’

‘I wish I knew. Ever since she arrived in Ferelden, she hasn’t uttered a word about her latest journey. But she did comment on having done some experiments on her own and being successful in halting the taint’s spread in some Wardens. The techniques she used, though, were atypical.’

The subject immediately drew her interest. ‘Did she use magic?’

‘Yes. And also several vials of a strange, revolving purple blood. Much like you, she used transfusion. The Wardens that were submitted to the procedure were already hearing their Calling. One of them had to be held down, being on the final stages of becoming a darkspawn. After several weeks of work, we had lost all hope of the cure actually working. And yet, when she was done, a bit of the corruption had receded – not all of it – and the once raving Warden was back to normal, thinking and talking as a rational human being again.’ He concluded.

‘Could this be true? Could we be close to curing the taint?’ she exclaimed.

‘Can one even dare to hope so? I fear even depositing any hope in the possibility may shatter any chance of it becoming real...’ he wondered.

‘May I pose a bold question?’

‘Always, Inquisitor.’ Came the earnest reply.

‘Has she experimented on you?’

Loghain gave her a rare smirk. ‘Not yet. But you and her are quite like-minded. She did manifest her intent on attempting to cure me. Quite insistently, as I recall.’

‘I guess you have friends who care about your welfare.’ Erwin suggested.

‘Funny. After the things I’ve done ten years ago, I’d never picture myself having two women such as yourselves calling me friend.’ he gazed at the horizon with a melancholic expression.

‘One can never tell with fate.’ She stood by his side, admiring the sunset.

They stood side by side in silence for a few moments when a messenger came riding and shouted her name, claiming it was urgent. He wore the Inquisition’s unmistakeable uniform and claimed he rode all the way from Skyhold.

Taking deep breaths, he urged her to return to the fortress. ‘Your Worship, you must come back now! The Orlesian troops are at our doorstep. They tried to come in while Ser Cullen was away on a mission.’

Erwin and Loghain exchanged a brief, appalled look.

‘Hold on. Who’s leading the chevaliers?’ he asked.

‘He claims to be George Trevelyan, brother of the Inquisitor. Sir.’ The messenger added.

Erwin’s eyes widened in fear as she realised the dangerous game her brother had in mind. And according to everything she had witnessed, he was already three moves ahead of her.


End file.
